The Miracle Man and the Potions Master
by RegalMisfortune
Summary: Severus Snape, Potions Master, receives a visit at Hogwarts by the man he apprenticed under to get his Mastery. But according to all records, both magical and Muggle, the man doesn't exist! England is confused, Dumbledore's meddling, and Snape knows more than he shares. As countries and humans dig deeper into this mystery, surprises are in store for all those who seek answers.
1. Introduction to Wizarding Countries

**Both story name and summary are subjected to change...**

**Welcome to my new story- and first crossover! As I am author of this fine story, it is my duty to inform you of these important messages: **

**1- I do not own Harry Potter, or Hetalia. Although that should be a give-in. **

**2- The HP storyline WILL NOT follow the books- or at least in most parts- from near the end of the first book onward. This means that the plot will be unpredictable, the characters strange and/or out of character, and some may not be favored in a good light. **

**3- Hetalia characters will be presented, also, at times, out of character. I will try to keep them as close to their original personalities, but no promises. **

**4- THERE WILL BE SWEARING. Maybe death too. And mentions of death. And other warnings. I will warn warnings at the warning section at the beginning of every chapter if there are any. You have been warned. **

**4.201- Also with that, notes, translations, and other comments will be posted at the end of every chapter. **

**5- England's brothers will make appearances, as well as my OC Vatican City. They will appear from time to time. Other characters and OCs will also appear in the HP sense as well.  
**

**6- PLEASE REVIEW! I love being bothered and bother other people! As long as you don't send me porn of rather scathing remarks. Criticism and ideas are welcomed and encouraged. **

**7- I will try to put the date that the chapter was posted at the very end, as well as the next chapter title. Sometimes I liked to know what date certain chapters were posted, I don't know why, but I'll put them in anyway. Maybe it'll get me more motivated to post more often...**

**SHOUT OUT TO PCheshire WHO HAS THE LOVELY PLEASURE OF WORKING THIS PLOT OUT OF MY HEAD. Discussions through PMs and that one random line that starts it all really does work wonders.  
**

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Chapter 1- Introduction to Wizarding Countries

A warm breeze rustled the soft green and blue drapes on the open window, letting in the hints of summer fast approaching upon the spring. The Italian home, a place where two brothers lived, had an unusual number of guests and only one brother playing host. Unlike the younger brother, who never seemed to invite anyone over in favor of visiting his friends in the other countries, the older brother took advantage of the one-less brother in the house to hold a meeting that only a select group of people were ever invited to.

And what a strange group it was! There was an Englishman with large bushy eyebrows sitting upon a couch in the living room, who was scowling darkly into his 'inferior' cup of tea. Across from him was another couch, of which two red eyed men of strawberry blond and silvery white hair respectively sat. Crushed between the white haired man and a pale blond man with a barrette in the shape of a cross in his hair was a quiet Canadian who was murmuring softly to the red-eyed, white haired man, trying in vain to get him to stop trying to play with the curl that weaved from his head, his attempts causing the other to laugh and his other red eyed companion smirk only slightly, showing off sharpened canines.

Beside the Englishman, much to said man's disdain, was a rather talkative Chinese-man who was busy chatting away about different recipes to a silent Egyptian who was both ignoring everyone yet watching them out of the corner of his eye.

A loveseat had been pulled from another room, on which seated two tall people. One was broad shouldered, a pale scarf trailing down from around his neck, his violet eyes gazing about as he smiled almost innocently. The other had the bangs of his blond hair spiked up towards the ceiling and had the distinct look of wanting to be anywhere but here.

A chair from the kitchen had also been stolen for this little get together in the living room, on which was propped the Italian brother, scowling darkly as he snapped at the others to try to get back on focus, his dark brown hair falling slightly into his face as he reached over to swat the albino-like man to "fucking stop playing with Canada's hair!".

This meeting was not like any other meetings held by the countries. In fact, most of the other countries didn't even know or believe in what they were meeting about. After all, wizards and magic don't exist apart in fairytales, or so they say.

Contrary to popular belief, these countries- South Italy, England, China, Egypt, Russia, Netherlands, Prussia, Canada, Norway, and Romania- got together every few months to discuss the one topic that makes them different than all the other nations; the wizarding world in their responsible countries.

Of course, only being ten countries, each one had to handle more than their own country. They each split up the other countries on similar languages, customs, and/or location. As such, these nine countries held in their hands the entire lives of anything magic, in a theoretical sense.

They weren't the only magical countries, mind you, as England's brothers, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland also had magic, but since England was in the politics anyway, he was the one to come to these meetings. All the other countries either completely forgot about magic or never knew to begin with, and now don't believe in its existence.

So now these ten countries were here, crammed into the Italian brothers' living room, going over each of their society of rule, comparing and contrasting, offering ideas and new regulations or dismantling of old ones.

And boasting. Lots of boasting.

The most boastful of the lot was England, when he was not complaining about the poor quality of Italian tea. Over the years he hasn't been able to boast much politically wise, as all of them knew that England's wizarding population has become more discriminate against those of non-human blood. The muggleborn problem was on the upper end of being fixed, but in place of muggleborn restrictions, ones against werewolves, vampires, and other such 'dark' creatures had been put into practice. There was always one group to put the blame on it seemed in England.

However, England still procured rather intelligent and famous individuals, useful spells, and valuable potions. People such as Dumbledore has been thrown around in argument against the most famous wizard of the time, spells such as the Patronus to ward off vile beings known as Dementors, and potions to revert the effects of transformation for werewolves like the Wolfsbane Potion- all of which came from England.

"And it was made by the best and the youngest in the world!" England said haughtily, in reference to some other potion made only a few months ago, yet the effects of it had impacted the entire European Wizarding World due to its usefulness.

"Who would that be?" came a soft voice not from any of the ten present, cutting through all argument and noise from them.

There, in the far corner of the living room, perched on a short stool near the wall, almost hidden behind the bookcase, was an eleventh person. His hair was that of gray charcoal, the strands falling over his ears in soft waves, two curls peeping against the sides of his thin, pale face. He was not here for the meeting, rather, he had been living in the Italian home for the past few days while his own home not too far away was going under some well needed remodeling. Unable to get him to leave, South Italy had shoved ear plugs into the man's ears, plopped his brother's iPod into his hand, and pushed him into the corner. The piece of technology was fascinating to the man, and having never worked a touch screen, had fiddled and prodded at the device that was blaring music into his ears ever since, not paying any attention to the conversation of magic going on in the same room and the others had completely forgotten about him.

He had figured out how to turn down the volume, though, and the current round of boasting had peaked his interest. He had removed one earplug, blinking gray eyes that matched his hair at the group that were now notified of his presence stared at him.

"Well, Snape, of course!" England broke the sudden silence, smirking over at China who had muttered something about one of his own potions master's being better, in his opinion, although no one else could hear him but those sitting on the same couch. He neglected to inform the gray eyed man of what this Snape was both the best and the youngest in, as it was well known throughout the ten of who he was. And due to the lack of this eleventh person's role in Wizarding society, none of them were about to inform him. Not that they planned on to, anyway- the man was Vatican City, after all. Even mentioning magic would probably cause him to swear that they were all possessed by the Devil… or something.

Yet at the mention of the Potions Master in question, the gray eyes brightened slightly, almost in recognition, and a small smile- or was it the beginning of a smirk?- played at the corner of the pale man's face before disappearing and giving a simple hum of acknowledgement. It happened all rather quickly, and the only one who seemed to notice was England, whose thick brows furrowed ever so slightly, and the only reason why he noticed was because he learned how to read small facial expressions from his own days at the most famous English-speaking wizarding school in Europe. This slim reaction seemed to both confuse and intrigue the Englishman.

His thoughts were soon veered off that course as the other Italian present spoke, rather loudly, that he was fucking starving and wasn't going to wait a second longer for lunch, which in turn caused the other countries to adjourn their meeting to go in search of food from nearby restaurants. It wasn't until England was on his way back to his own house after the meeting was over when the thought returned, and thinking back only brought in more questions. After all, when they returned from lunch to continue the meeting, Vatican City had disappeared and never returned, the musical device left on a side table next to the window and no longer functioning while it being brand new.

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**Notes:  
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**The magical countries and the other countries they represent-**

**England- Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand.  
Romano- Spain, Italy, Portugal, and Greece.  
Russia- Ukraine, Belarus, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, and other smaller countries in the area.  
Romania- The Balkans and Turkey.  
Prussia- Germany, Poland, Austria, and Hungary  
China- All Asian countries.  
Canada- All of the New World (North America, South America, Central America, and all islands within the area).  
Egypt- All Africa and the Middle East.  
Norway- The Nordic countries.  
Netherlands- France, Luxembourg, Belgium, Switzerland and Liechtenstein.**

**This is a very strange group, I must say so myself. However, I do not think they are uncompatible. True there are quiet ones, loud ones, and dangerous ones all present in the same room, but I feel that they seem to balance each other out. Many fanfictions I've read with this crossover type have a variety of magical nations, most containing England and his brothers, Romania, and Norway. Italy also plays a part in many of the stories, but I have felt that his brother had more of the wizarding type than Italy did. Romano has a certain vibe to him that makes him a better candidate in my mind. **

**Russia came in because, well, England did summon him once. Egypt has a deep mythological past and sense of magic of cursed tombs. It made sense to me add him. The similar sense was with China. Prussia and Canada I added because Canada has a more levelheadedness than America does, and the other New World countries aren't exactly mentioned apart from Cuba. Plus Canada is invisible at times- magic, I tell ye! Prussia just sort of went along... the magical circle here needed some brashness.**

**Now the Netherlands was something that popped out of the blue. In truth, I had no idea why he came to mind, but not really wanting to throw in France in... Plus the fact that Netherlands isn't mentioned much at all in any story I've read... I had to give him some screentime. Also, that hair... **

**Thoughts, questions, reviews, suggestions, critics are all welcomed and encouraged! Even if I get none or you all hate it, I already have the second chapter halfway done, so be ready for it in the next day or two! **

**(This chapter was posted on March 23, 2014).**

**Next chapter: Monday Mornings in March.**


	2. Monday Mornings in March

**No warnings to report for this chapter apart from a few thoughts of inflicting pain upon others.  
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**WOW, THIS STORY'S GOT TWO REVIEWS, THREE FAVORITES, AND FIVE FOLLOWERS. IT'S A RECORD FOR ME! *dances around* Thank you guys! Have some cookies!**

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Chapter 2- Monday Mornings in March

Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, did not mornings. All mornings were terrible in his mind, but Mondays were the worst. Monday mornings in March left him with a faint feeling of sticking the first person he saw with a sharpened quill through their eye socket. Repeatedly. He had dwelt on this thought before, but concluded that not even bloodily removing the eyes out of a first year Gryffindor would make him feel any better about Monday mornings, especially ones in March.

What made March the most despicable month for mornings was that it was nearing the end of the school year of one Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not close enough to June to have the students feel like they were almost free of the stone walls for the summer, but far enough away from September that this time of year felt like the school year had gone a millennium one too many. Piled on top of that was end of the year exams that all the professors were stockpiling prep work onto the poor souls who were on the receiving end, NEWTs and OWLs preparations for the older poor souls,and having two or so months to deal with whiny, insolent children and snot nosed adolescents who did nothing but complain about work and hand in deplorable, sad excuses of essays written in sloppy chicken scratch while blowing up cauldrons sky high in his Potions classroom.

Adding to the fact that it was a Monday, after he spent the weekend working on his own projects as well as grading previously said essays and what potions that survived, as well as an entire week of catastrophic potion failures and dunderheads, Snape had all reason to hate Monday mornings in March.

Seated at the head table, the Potions Master's abyssal eyes scanned the slowly filling Great Hall as students trickled in from their dormitories. As every morning, the room was loud, the most noise coming from the scarlet cladded table. Gryffindor; the house of the reckless, the brash, the foolish, the imbeciles, and the pig-headed. They were loud, obnoxious, rude, and dim-witted. No matter what year it was, or what decade for that matter, it remained the same- forever the bane of his existence.

One such bane of life itself sat at that table; the wild haired, bespectacled son of Potter poking at his breakfast. Snape's eyes narrowed at the boy, scowl curling his lips. The boy was mediocre at best in his class- a little better than such in the other classes if the rumors were true. He was rude, pampered, spoiled rotten- he had been told- troublemaker, disregarding all respect for adults, and was constantly running around causing ruckus all around the castle- Snape knew personally- and he was more than happy to put the boy in his place at any given chance.

Yet, over the course of the year, Snape couldn't help but study the boy. He was thin- much too thin than what should be healthy- but he had filled out a little during his months at Hogwarts, losing his more gaunt appearance. He was much shorter than the rest of his peers, even most of the girls had a good few centimeters above the child. From the rumors from his Slytherins, Potter had poor tastes in Muggle clothing that he wore underneath his school robes- too baggy, too ratty. Snape himself had seen the state of his shoes underneath his robes- the converses patched together haphazardly with tape that had slowly been replaced by magical means of repair, although even that didn't do the shoes any justice.

Potter had small quirks that Snape had to take study in order to notice them as well. He would finch ever so slightly when someone unfamiliar would touch him or wasn't expecting it; his eyes would flick about the classroom at the beginning of every lesson, taking note of all the people present before he would drop his gaze to the desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone and anything. In potions, Snape noticed that the boy would cut and chop away at the ingredients without struggle or unevenness- but only if he thought that no one was looking. When his partner, usually the youngest Weasley boy, happened to turn back from doing whatever the redhead does, Potter would quickly look at him, shrug, and dump in whatever he had been preparing into the potion like he didn't even know any better.

His choice of friends and the way he treated them were a bit strange, too. He had that Granger girl regurgitating books from memory while the Weasley boy would talk about anything other than schoolwork. In this group setting, Potter would mostly listen and only speak when a question was directed at him and seemed to gallivant off to cause trouble at every corner. He had the occasion to disappear from the pair- to where, Snape didn't know for sure. However, he had heard through his Snakes that Potter could be seen with either Longbottom or the Weasley twins, if he wasn't alone at all. Yet the boy wouldn't even acknowledge the three if he was with the Muggleborn for the redhead idiot. What was the purpose to have secret friends from his friends? And why those three?

The points from tale to reality weren't matching up, and no matter how much Snape wanted to continue pinning Potter as his father's son, he couldn't. He wasn't and wouldn't be blind to what he saw before him, no matter how much Dumbledore spouted out how Potter was doing just fine at his Muggle residence.

A flurry of feathered wings sounded the arrival of the owls, distracting Snape from his examination of Potter in favor of glancing up. Potter's owl, the large white snowy had come without post- not that he was expecting to see the bird have any anyway. The boy never did get any mail except a casual invite from Hagrid.

An owl with the Daily Prophet made its daily visit to the Potions Master, who took the paper with a slight scowl at the cover. Nothing interesting. Half of it was crock, the other half was advertisement. The latter half tended to be the more interesting part.

Snape tossed the paper down to the side of his plate and was about to reach over to pick up his tea when a small ball of grey feathers seemed to fall straight out of the air and smack dab into the middle the plate of eggs that was situated in front of the man. The professors around him jumped in startlement, and if he wasn't so controlled over his actions, Snape would have done the same. The thing just came out of nowhere!

A head popped out of the platter of eggs, the owl giving a hoot before fluffing up its dripping feathers and took off again, flying about the table in circles, dripping eggs onto the table and its occupants below. The situation hadn't gone unnoticed, as some of the students began to giggle, some of the female population awing over the small bird. It was rather tiny- the letter tied to its leg was almost as big as the Boreal Owl was.

Cuteness wasn't going to get the owl any favors from Snape, who was just about to go for his wand when someone- probably a Hufflepuff- screamed and the ball of feathers was suddenly pinned to the table under massive talons.

This bird, Snape recognized. The white head with distinctive black stripes running down from the eyes like a mask, the red-ringed yellow eyes, the rust-colored feathered chest to the darker wings- this Bearded Vulture had been dubbed Corpus by one man he hadn't seen in years. Although they kept to post almost monthly, Snape never received the massive Corpus when anyone else was around, let alone in the middle of breakfast.

Something was most definitely up.

The red-ringed eyes glared down at the small owl pinned under him, almost warning the much smaller bird before removing the taloned prison. The Boreal hopped up, fluffed its feathers and hopped over to Snape like nothing had happened. The man also glared at the tiny ball of feathers before untying the egg coated letter from the bird. On the back of the letter was a coat of arms- a small dove sitting on top of a shield and crossed pikes behind it. That meant this was a serious letter.

Snape glanced over at Corpus, who was glaring over at Pomona Sprout, who was slowly inching back in her chair, looking rather pale at the sight of the massive bird. Professor Quirrell, who was sitting beside her, looked like he couldn't decide whether to be intrigued or scared out of his turban. The creature was a rare sight, as Bearded Vultures were more commonly known for their uses in Necromancy due to their diet of bone and marrow rather than flesh. Owning one in most of the European world would result in many drawing to the owner to being a Necromancer- which, in most countries, was illegal.

However, Corpus' owner never did care much for following the norm or fretting over suspicions and superstitions.

"A friend of yours?" Dumbledore leaned over, a flick of his hand removing the eggs from both the letter and the small owl, who hooted loudly and fluffed up again, looking quite pleased with itself. The hall, which had been quiet in favor of watching the scene play before them, was filled with hushed "awws" at the tiny bird's antics.

Snape scowled. The awwing stopped.

"No," Snape drawled as he opened the letter. If the man went through all this trouble to get this letter publicized, whatever was in it wasn't worth hiding.

Scanning through the contents, Snape blinked once. Twice. Then let out a small sigh of resignation before handing the letter over to Dumbledore. "He's arriving whether you approve it or not," he said, offering a steak bone to Corpus as the Headmaster read over the letter.

_Dear Severus,_

_I heard of you the other day. It seems that you have been busy since you've gotten your Mastery. I'm so proud of you, my old apprentice. _

_I have sent this letter not to just congratulate you on your success, but on a more recent situation that has come up. _

_You see, I will be in England later this week and will drop by to see you. I suppose this is a warning, then, to both yourself and your Headmaster. I will arrive on Friday. _

_No, it isn't negotiable. And yes, you will still teach classes. Not that you'd cancel them anyway. I am curious as to how to teach the students- and how they react to your more dark and angry-at-the-world attitude. With your personality, you'd probably scarred the poor souls of cauldrons and flobberworms for life. _

_- Lodovico Gereon._

_P.S. The owl's new. I don't know who he belongs to. He just showed up one day and wouldn't leave and demanded to take this letter instead of Corpus. I sent Corpus anyway, in case the poor thing gets lost. I've been calling him Poco- he seems to like it._

With the surprised look on the Headmaster's face, along with the sickened expression on both the students and the other professors' faces while they listened to the crunching and snapping of bone coming from Corpus as he devoured the steak bone, this particular Monday morning in March seemed just a bit better than the rest.

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**Notes:**

**I have never done any HP writing before, so I do hope Snape's not-so-sunny attitude is up to par. **

**Also it is quite obvious things aren't going to follow the books. Warning you again in case you want to back out now. **

**I would suggest looking up pictures of Boreal owls and Bearded Vultures on Google. They're awesome. The cover for this story is actually a Bearded Vulture. **

**Also, Corpus is Latin. Probably obvious what it means. Poco is little in Spanish, although it doesn't pertain to sizes, rather amounts, such as a little dash of salt rather than a little owl.**

**Oh look, the passive introduction of an OC. I wonder if it'll be important...  
**

**I like how I'd only got chapter one done and I've already got requests for pairings... Actually, I don't mind at all! It'll give me things to plot in the future! SO PLEASE, SEND ME ANY PAIRING. OR REVIEWS. OR IDEAS. OR, OR, WHATEVER YOU WANT. Please? **

**(This chapter was posted on March 24, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Billowing Cloaks**


	3. Billowing Cloaks

**No warnings. Probably some Oocness from a few characters.  
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Chapter 3- Billowing Cloaks

Friday came at the stroke of midnight, and one Harry James Potter could not find any peace in his dreams. Growling dogs, flashes of green light, and hooded figures taunted his sleeping hours, and so Harry found himself sitting at the large window overlooking the grounds in his dormitory, gazing at the dark shadows dance and flicker in the moonlight and listening to his dormmates' snores. Harry had hoped that Hogwarts would be his chance to get some decent sleep after years of trying to sleep at the Dursley's when they were too busy working him to the bone. He had hoped that here, he would have a chance to be himself, the person he was forced to hide due to not wanting to 'show up' his cousin and get a face full of fist for his efforts, but here he found himself being some hero who saved everyone from a bad dark wizard when he had been only a little tot. Really, he was one! How much could a baby do? Spit up?

Everyone had expectations of him- be like his parents, be the hero, be the one to solve everyone's problems. Now he was supposed to protect the Philosopher's Stone from Snape! If he could trade the stupid stone for a life where nothing was expected of him and he could just blend in with everyone else, to be normal, he would gladly give a hundred Philosopher's Stones to the dungeon bat.

A small sigh escaped the boy, leaving a patch of fog on the window. Harry watched it slowly fade before rising up from the windowsill and going over to his trunk, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak. It was funny how people always compared him to his parents, yet he knew nothing of them, and had nothing of them apart from this cloak. Even that he had suspicions. Still, the item had its uses, and Harry wasn't going to let it gather dust.

Folding the cloak over his arm, Harry left the dorm room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click before tiptoeing down the stairs.

"Taking a midnight stroll again?" the sleepy voice of the Fat Lady murmured as the small Gryffindor opened her portrait to step into the hallway. Harry never could get much sleep, and in result spent most of his nights wandering through the dark hallways in his restlessness. He let out a silent "yes Ma'am," before slipping the cloak over his head and disappearing from view. Harry tried not to be rude to the portraits. It was like telly, only that the people in the screen would yell back if you insulted how terrible the show was going.

Sometimes he would stop and chat to the portraits. Sometimes he just sat and listen to them talk amongst each other, spreading the daily gossip. They were always please to entertain, and were always delighted when someone took interest in them that wasn't amongst the paintings. Even the portrait of a dark haired man and his serpent familiar down in an unused part of the dungeons seemed please when he came- even though the man did nothing but sulk in the back of the portrait with his back only visible. At least the snake was nice enough.

Harry let his feet carry him silently through the dark hallways, his mind far from the present. Sometimes he wished he could be like this forever- invisible to the world. Although it would get lonely after awhile, he was practically alone anyway. He had no friends in the Muggle world apart from his neighbor Ms. Figg, who the only one both in the neighborhood and at school that treated him more than just a nuisance and a freak. Here he was popular only by what was said of him- that didn't mean he had many friends. Hermione was nice when she wasn't spouting out information she had eaten from books- which was rarely ever. The only things Ron talked about were Quidditch and food- that's if he wasn't complaining about something or other. Both of them didn't like it if he did well- Hermione taking it as a challenge and a threat to her intelligence, Ron didn't like feeling stupid by his 'best mate'.

Harry wondered if Ron would've treated him the same if he had gone into Slytherin.

The only people who did know about him when he wasn't playing The-Boy-Everyone-Wants-Him-To-Be were Fred, George, and Neville. He had accidentally found Fred and George's laboratory out on one of his midnight strolls and had helped them brew up some mysterious concoction that they said would turn hair into porcupine quills. They taught him all about the craft of potion making, and although he felt he was still pants at it compared to them, he was at least not failing miserably at it.

Neville he had found in one of the greenhouses one early Saturday morning when everyone else was still sleeping in. The two had struck up a simple friendly environment of helping to weed and care for the greenhouses in mostly silence, enjoying the peace while it lasted. Neville may not be as energetic or outgoing as the twins were, but he had potential, like Harry did, and he, like Harry, tried to squash it down under the expectations of others.

Harry blinked as his feet found the bottom of the staircase. He was in the Entrance Hall- there wasn't anyplace else to go besides down to the dungeons, outside, or back upstairs. He was debating which path to take when he saw a shadow move.

Holding his breath, Harry remained still, his eyes focusing on the shadow. In the darkness, he could barely make out a shape. Tall, thin, and dark. Several people popped into his head at once, but it wasn't until one of the large doors opened to send in a sliver of moonlight to chase the shadows away did Harry pinned a name to the person.

Snape, the dungeon bat, was standing against a wall, arms crossed, and had been waiting in the shadows the entire time. Was this because of the letter he got on Monday? Harry, Ron, and Hermione conspired about the letter- to orders of what to do with the Philosopher's Stone to a hit list. Well, that was mostly Ron and Hermione's part- Harry just shrugged or nodded at their possible ideas.

Instead of orders of assassinations or ideas of getting rid of Fluffy from the third floor corridor, a cloaked man stepped into the school, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him. He turned to face Snape, lowering his hood to look at the man more closely.

The man was shorter than Snape by about a head, his golden blond hair streaked with silver at the sides that was tied back with a piece of red string. He wore Muggle clothing instead of a robe, tight fitting jeans and a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing thin arms and long fingers. His shoulders were broader than the Potions Master's, with the midnight blue cloak draped over them loosely.

"Severus," the man murmured, a small smile coming onto his face, his silver eyes brightening at the sight of the man. He raised his hands out before him, looking expectantly at Snape. They stared at each other for a moment, a silent battle of wills ending with a small huff from Snape before the dungeon bat moved away from the walls and towards the man.

Positively beaming now, the blond man reached out and took hold of Snape's hands, his fingers curling around the other man's as he stood up on the balls of his feet to kiss the dour man's cheeks in greeting. If the man had been anyone else, Snape probably would've slaughtered them on sight. Whoever this bloke was, Harry was sure that he must be important to Snape.

"Does this have to be necessary?" Snape drawled, a small wrinkle forming across the bridge of his nose. Harry guessed it was close to a pout that he was going to see from the man.

"Don't be such a wet blanket. It's not like I'm proposing my love to you in front of the whole school," the shorter man said, a smile still on his face. Harry noticed that there was an accent to his voice, but he couldn't place where.

Snape scowled. "Let's pray that no restless portrait or rule-breaking buffoons heard that, Master Gereon. They might take you seriously."

"Please, Severus, none of this 'Master' stuff. I think you deserve calling me Lodovico after those years of dealing with me during your apprenticeship."

The man, Lodovico, smiled up at Snape for a moment, his face melting into a look of pride as he let go of the Potions Master's hands to cup his face instead, gazing up at the man. "Look at you now," he murmured softly. "You've gone off and done wonders. Even when you gone and blown up my kitchen I knew you would do great."

Harry was more than shocked when Snape's cold exterior melted slightly as the man scoffed, the corner of his lips twitching into what could be the beginnings of a smile. "If you didn't want that to happen you shouldn't have put the milk and the rubber sap into similar containers next to each other in the fridge."

"Everything's labeled now after that catastrophe! I'm still finding sticky spots on the ceiling. Now come! I want to see your lab!" Lodovico beamed before he was off with cloak billowing behind him towards the staircase leading down to the dungeons. Snape followed after him in his own flurry of cloth, the hushed voices of the two disappearing into darkness.

Harry couldn't help but stare after them. Snape had been so out of character. Who was this man- Gereon? And did they both do that dramatic cloak thing that Snape did so well?

He decided that he needed to try his luck at sleeping again. Maybe this time he won't be dreaming of a smiling Snape and two billowing cloaks.

zzzz

Up in another tower, up a staircase guarded by a silent gargoyle, a white bearded man sat back in his winged-back chair as he digested the words the portrait said. He had been curious as to who Severus' Master was ever since Monday, but had decided to wait until he met the man in person. However, he had felt the wards ripple when the man stepped onto the grounds, and Dumbledore noticed how...off...it had felt. He couldn't exactly describe what he had felt through the wards, but he knew it was worth looking into. He had a stone to protect from a possessed Quirrell and a boy to prepare for the inevitable war with Voldemort when he returned. He couldn't afford having an unknown wandering in the school. He had never heard of Lodovico Gereon, and the portrait's description of the man did not lead the Headmaster to any family lines through trait. However, he had an Italian accent, so he might not be related to anyone from the British Wizarding world at all. Having another Potions' Master under his belt would be beneficial, but Italian Wizards were a hit and miss: they were either really Light, or as Dark and one could be, and very few of them ever got involved in Wizarding wars. The war against Grindewald showed as much.

Reaching over, Dumbledore picked up a quill and began to pen a letter to an old friend of his. If anyone could gather information on anyone in such a short amount of time, it was Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

**So we finally get to see Lodovico, and Dumbledore comes into the story again. Harry also pops in with his thoughts and things. Really, I never did like how Harry never really sat back and thought about everything. Things really made no sense and he just accepts them and moves on.  
**

**Also billowing cloak thing! Who taught who? **

**Please tell me how I'm doing so far. I really like opinions. It gives me something to work for. **

**(This chapter was posted on March 26, 2014).**

**Next Chapter: A Mystery Afoot. **


	4. A Mystery Afoot

**Warnings- Language.  
**

**And thanks for the reviews and follows/favorites! I'm trying to keep my chapters a mix of light and serious so it's not too overwhelming. I also have this thing of typing something up and not quite writing down what I mean, like jumping from one train of thought to another. I'm... disjointed? Things may be choppy at times and I'm sorry if that happens.  
**

**Also my chapters for this story are shorter than my other two. I just happen to write what I want and they're really short... Oh well. **

**More notes at the bottom.**

* * *

Chapter 4- A Mystery Afoot

England leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face with both hands. He had been awoken at the crack of dawn by an owl tapping on the window bearing one letter from Albus Dumbledore asking for information about a Lodovico Gereon. An approximate description of the man had also been sent, although England did not think much of it.

Now, he was seeing why Dumbledore thought it had been important enough to write down.

There was nothing on the man! The country personified had checked the archives at the Ministry, the personal files of every Muggle living in his domain- hell, he had even checked with Gringotts and every legal and illegal wand maker in the country to see if anyone knew of the man.

The collective response was one big fat 'No'.

Even the goblins had been slightly perturbed by someone of magical prowess not having an account- and not just in England. They even checked up with every other bank- for a small fee- and came up with nothing. The only conclusion they came up was that the man had an account under a different name or had a key to someone else's vault. So, with another small fee, they were going through a broader search to see if a man under that name had ownership of a key and the results would be in by tomorrow.

It was both frustrating and intriguing a the same time. Typically when asked to find information on someone, England would have had it by now. However, as midday was quickly approaching, the country had nothing to show for his early rising and hours of work besides one massive headache.

"You sure look whipped." Scotland, England's older brother, looked like he had just rolled out of bed and stuck his head under the faucet, his scarlet hair dripping in some spots while sticking up at wild angles in others. He neglected to put a shirt on, opting to walk to the kitchen table that England sat at with only a pair of pajama bottoms on and an unlit cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth.

"What'cha doin'? Freshening up on how to burn water?" The red-head asked, plucking a potions book from the pile of tomes and loose parchment from the table and flipping through the pages with a bored look.

"I am looking for information on someone, if you must know," England snapped, snatching the book out of his older brother's hands, his green eyes narrowed. "He's a Potions Master, but I can't find anything on him. He doesn't have an account in Gringotts, he doesn't have any Muggle information, and he isn't in the archives in the Ministry!" He let the book slam down onto the table before propping his face in his hands, elbows on the table. "I've been up since before sunrise and I've gotten nothing! Not even a hint of the man!"

Scotland hummed out a disinterested tone as he turned his back to his brother in favor of raiding the cupboard. "He's probably some non-profit," he said after uncorking the bottle of Firewhisky and taking a swig. "You know, them types who aren't officially Masters due to not patenting their potions under their names but are acknowledge as such by the other Masters. Probably hordes his money under his mattress."

"I highly doubt that," England scoffed, leaning back in his chair to glare at Scotland. "He trained Snape! No unofficial nobody would apprentice someone like him! And don't you go drinking Firewhisky at this time of day!"

Scotland rolled his green-yellow eyes before taking another swig from the bottle just to wound England up. "I'll listen to you if you listen to me, little bro. Have fun with whatever the hell you're doing." He grunted as he rolled his shoulders back, popping a few joints before he shuffled out of the kitchen, Firewhisky in hand.

"Wanker," England muttered, glaring at the doorway for a moment longer before reaching for his phone. "Can't wait 'till he leaves tomorrow."

Still grumbling, the country tapped his finger on the screen to pull up his contacts. He thanked every god and goddess for finding a way for technology to work around magic as he called up one country he knew he might get some answers from for this mysterious Italian Potions Master.

"-the fuck's call'n' so damn early?" the voice of South Italy sounded through the phone, sounding mostly asleep and not at all happy. Not that he ever was.

"It's almost eleven! And I need a favor of you."

A few more muffled curses and a loud thud sounded over the phone, soon followed by a quiet pining of North Italy. Apparently the brothers had opted to sleep together again and they got tangled. England waited with thinned patience as the Italian on the other end unstuck himself.

"The fuck do you want you bastard?" the grumpy country growled as a door slamming shut signaled that he was alone.

"I need information on a man named Lodovico Gereon." England gave the Italian the descriptions of the man in question and asked him to search all viable sources- including Muggle.

"Th' name's not familiar," the Italian mumbled before huffing slightly. "I know almost all the Masters of any sect in my country, and that name does not mean anything to me." England could sympathize with the other country. While being grumpy and rude, South Italy was anything but stupid. He remembered names and faces like one could name their favorite brands in a store. Having someone he wasn't familiar with, neither by description or by name, it would be both frustrating and a challenge for the man. Still didn't mean he couldn't complain about it.

"You fuck'n' owe me big time," South Italy grumbled after the scratching of a pen writing down the information stopped. "I'll contact you if I find anything." And he hung up, leaving England to listen to the hum of disconnect.

"Bloody wankers."

* * *

**Introduction of Scotland, and we have England and South Italy coming back!  
**

**This is the first time I've ever used Scotland. I've never read any fanfiction about him, and I had to judge his personality based on pictures off Google and skimming over character sheets. I hope I came close to getting him right... **

**And I wish I could write with accents! I just can't do it... ;A;**

**The other countries will come in future chapters, so don't worry about them. **

**(This chapter was posted on March 26, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Book Review.**


	5. Book Review

**No warnings, just some Oocness probably. I don't really know. I'm a poor judge of personality when I write. **

**Also I will try to post chapter point of views in a similar pattern. Some other people will come in eventually, but I will try to keep it to Harry, Snape, and England as much as possible. **

* * *

Chapter 5- Book Review

At Hogwarts, a different kind of trouble was occurring. It wasn't trying to find information on a man; no, Snape was busy trying to _find_ the Italian.

After exploring his lab, the men had gone to Snape's private quarters, where somewhere Snape went to bed at three in the morning in hopes to get some sleep in before First Year's Potions class. Lodovico slept as much as he ate- which was some toast with butter and some sort of beverage on a good day- so Snape had left the man to reading some books on the Dark Arts from his small bookshelf in the corner of the room.

It was a rare sight indeed when Snape walked into his living room and found his old Master asleep on the couch, the book sprawled across his chest as soft breathing escaped his parted lips. Lodovico had requested to sit in on his Potions lesson, but Snape knew better than to wake the man up and let him rest. After all, for a man who couldn't remember when was the last time he slept to be sleeping so soundly, Snape wasn't going to be the one to spoil it for one class with a bunch of Gryffindors who were going to blow up their cauldrons anyway.

He really shouldn't have been surprised to come back to his quarters after a disaster of a class to find the couch deserted and the rooms empty. He shouldn't have. But he had been anyway. Really, what was he thinking, leaving an Italian alone in a new and curious castle with hundreds of staircases and moving portraits?

Snape was beginning to curse Lodovico's curiosity as he trekked his way through the school. He was glad that the man wasn't as touchy as other Italians he knew, but his fright of crowds meant that few even saw the man. He had been following rumors of sporadic sightings of a strange man by straggling students for the last hour and a half! He was going to wring the man's neck when he got his hands on him...

Wheeling around a corner, Snape finally found his target- the man waving cheerfully to a spluttering Quirrell before he closed the classroom door on the poor excuse of a professor.

"Oh, hello Severus," Lodovico beamed at the Potions Master, oblivious to the murderous aura the dark man was giving off.

"Don't you 'hello Severus' me," Severus snapped, grabbing hold of his old Master's arm by the elbow- ignoring the man's flinch- and dragged him down the corridor. "Mind telling me why you were off wandering about the castle you know absolutely nothing about without telling me?" The man was almost hissing through his teeth, trying not to growl outright. "Went to chat it off with the stuttering imbecile? You could have spent your time doing better things."

"Oh, I had to give him some reading material about Blood Ritual Summonings," the Italian said with a smile- which turned a bit concerned and slightly uneasy when Snape stopped dead in the middle of the hallway to turn him around to face him sharply.

"You brought a _book_ about _Black Magic _into Hogwarts?!"

"Oh no! That would be absolutely horrible! No, of course not. I gave him a book review on a book about the subject. See? I didn't bring any terrible and highly illegal book into a school full of innocent children."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He had written to Lodovico in the beginning of the year with his suspicions of Quirrell, but now the man was practically feeding the lie of a professor ideas even crazier than trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone.

"I also took care of a little business too. Nicholas should receive Corpus by this evening."

Wait, Nicholas?

"You-?" Snape stared at his former Master. He did _not_ just steal-

"Don't get those silly thoughts in your head," Lodovico said, waving a hand in the air as if to brush the thoughts out of Snape's head. Even though Snape's only reaction was a slight widening of his eyes, the Italian could read the man like no other could. "I simply replaced the original with a copy and then sent the original back to the owner. The copy isn't as good as the original, as normal, but it will do its job. like any other- for a short time, at least. I may have mentioned it to a certain someone and gave them some alternatives. They would be much better than being dependent on an inanimate object."

Snape could only just stare at the shorter man beaming before him. The man had done the craziest thing he could do in this castle in only a few short hours of his arrival, and he hadn't been caught or killed yet. Even Dumbledore hasn't noticed the slip he'd got from the Italian! And giving the man who had spent all year craving for the Stone an alternative? If Snape suspected where Quirrell's loyalties really lie, through what he could deduce out of the tightly-lipped Dumbledore, were true, Lodovico had just given a dangerous man even more dangerous ideas. Hell, he had even smiled and slammed the door in his face-!

"One of these days I'm going to wake up and find out you have been murdered in some gruesome way," Snape grumbled, shaking his head in dismay. "The Flamels better be happy that they got their idiotic rock back." He was quiet for a moment, the two standing in silence in the hallway before he opened his mouth again. "I bet ten galleons that he's gone by tonight."

"I'll bet for tomorrow morning," Lodovico said with a small smile. "He seems the type who would read through the book review and sit back to dwell on it before reading it again." He beamed up at the look on Snape's face. "It's a really good book review. It's just a pity I couldn't give him the actual book. He might've appreciated it a bit more."

Snape snorted as he turned and made his way down the hallway once more. "I should've known better than think you came to this school without multiple reasons to do so."

"You know I don't care much for crowds," the Italian whined, but lagged behind long enough to smile and wave to a shadowed alcove before darting up ahead to match Snape's longer strides. "And if I get to see you in the process, it's worth coming out of my little cubbyhole as you call my home, right?" The pair turned around the corner and disappeared from view.

ccc

Meanwhile, a pair of identical red-heads and a bespectacled green eyed child hiding in the alcove stared at each other in disbelief. "What was _that_ all about?"

* * *

**So we get a little more insight on Lodovico. Well, some. Not really. He doesn't seem to follow anyone's rules, does he? **

**Also he has connections. Strange that a man who knows famous people no one has information on... **

**Please review or comment. I like to see what others think. **

**(This chapter was posted on March 28, 2014)**

**Next chapter: The End of Another School Year**


	6. The End of Another School Year

**No true warnings, but there is little dialogue and a whole lot of how Harry ticks. Also some time jumping, so be careful of that.**

**I will try to be posting Chapter 7 sometime today as well, so warning you ahead of time.**

**Notes at the end of the chapter, as usual.**

* * *

Chapter 6 -The End of Another School Year.

The close encounter with Snape and his former Master did not rest easy on Harry or the twins. As soon as the footsteps echoed into silence the trio had darted to the first empty classroom they found to discuss what they had overheard. Harry had told them months ago about the Stone, the Flamels, and the suspicions of Snape wanting to steal it. Fred and George agreed with Harry in believing that Snape wouldn't stoop as low as stealing. Clever deception and tricky to get what he wanted, yes, but not outright stealing.

"After all," the twins argued, "Bats don't steal. They swoop."

It took only a few minutes to conclude not to tell anyone about what had transpired between the two Potions Masters. Not only did they not want to interfere- Harry- they wanted to see the expression on Dumbledore's face when he catches on- the twins.

So they carried on about their days as if nothing had ever happened. Harry still made the routine check-up on Fluffy with Hermione and Ron and the twins continued to prank the least expected.

Gereon had won the bet, Harry mused to himself the morning after, when Quirrell didn't come down to breakfast and by lunch everyone knew that he had gone missing. Neither Quirrell or Gereon were in the castle- Fred and George showed him the Maurauder's Map earlier in the year- and they didn't return on the grounds for the remaining of school.

Dumbeldore looked especially disappointed when the End of the Year Feast came and went in a blur of greens and silvers. Snape looked especially smug, and Slytherin had a small relapse from their collected dispositions in order to celebrate their win of the House Cup. Most of the Gryffindor's groaned and grumbled, but Harry didn't care, and neither did the twins.

After all, all three of them should've been in Slytherin themselves if they hadn't want to meet up with the expectations of them to be in Gryffindor.

Harry waved his hand over his packed trunk, watching it as it shrank itself small enough for him to slip into his pocket. He had been practicing some simple spells wandlessly so he could get around the Trace on his wand. The Shrinking Charm did wounders, especially when he could smuggle it into his room without the Dursley's trying to hide it in the cupboard under the stairs to keep him from doing his homework. He kept many things in the trunk he didn't want anyone rummaging through- his Cloak, his schoolbooks, some other books on spells (both legal and illegal in some cases, as some of the books he Owl Ordered from outside the country), and a variety of food he had put under preservation spells. Both he and Hedwig were going to be needing it.

"Now, Young Harry," the twins said in unison as the trio stood at the station while other students were boarding the Express. "Remember all the training you've done!"

"Don't use magic with your wand or you'll be caught!"

"Do all your homework!"

"Do prank your pig of a cousin!"

"Look both ways before crossing the street!"

"Stop drop and roll when you're on fire!"

"Don't take candy from-"

"Okay, okay! I get it Gred and Forge!" Harry laughed, shoving the two teasingly away from him.

"Oh! And don't forget-"

"-to owl us!"

Even Neville had asked Harry to owl him- although it had been more a mumbled hint than anything else. Still, Harry was planning on having Hedwig spend as little time as possible in his Aunt and Uncle's house. Knowing them they'd probably lock her up the first chance they got.

Harry sighed as he found himself in a compartment with Ron and Hermione, Ron talking about Quidditch and food while Hermione kept reprimanding Ron's boorish use of grammar. He wished he could be with the twins and their ideas of the next greatest prank or enjoying the quiet talk of plants with Neville, yet here he was listening to Quidditch and corrections.

In truth, Harry did not really care much for Quiddich. Sure he loved flying, but being strapped down with a purpose of chasing a speck of a ball for the entertainment of others didn't appeal to him much. He'd rather spend the evening flying with Hedwig beside him than practicing catching a Snitch.

Out of all the things he was going to miss while away from Hogwarts besides the twins and Neville, it were the owls and Hagrid he was going miss the most, followed second to flying. Harry loved going to the Owlery and watching the owls chitter and hoot to each other, taking bits of sausage or bacon he had snatched from breakfast to feed them. Many wizards thought them as tools or stupid, but Harry saw that they had personality. Not all were especially bright- like the barn owl who kept trying to fly into windows- but many were far from unintelligent. Harry liked sitting up there and trying to guess who owned which owl judging by the owl's personality or appearance. He managed to get some right- like said barn owl belonging to Goyle- but there was one tiny bright-eyed fish owl that always hopped up to him when he visited was owned by Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quiddich captain. It was quite surprising to see the such a mean-looking person owning such a friendly little owl, but he supposed looks could be deceiving.

Hagrid was his connection to other creatures. When he wasn't with Ron or Hermione and the twins were too busy blowing up their laboratory, Harry was with Hagrid in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, checking up on the animals and creatures that may lurk in the area as well as collecting potion ingredients for Snape- although the man didn't know that. Harry was fascinated with the unicorns, slightly uneasy with the giant spiders, and had the utmost pleasure of helping Hagrid pull a stray griffon out of a tangle of vines and branches it seemed to have wedged itself in.

If Harry could be anything he wanted without being weighed down by expectations, he would have gone into something with animals. Was there even a thing as a magical vet? He would have to look it up the next time he was in Diagon Alley.

A few hours later the Hogwarts Express stopped at Kings Cross Station and Harry found himself waving goodbye to his friends before grudgingly making his way towards the walrus of an uncle. He had given Hedwig to Neville and shortly explained why he didn't want her to be locked up as soon as he got home. The quiet boy agreed and said he would send Hedwig to him in a few days.

So Harry was left to fend off his so called family on his own for the first few days. He wasn't looking forward to be spending the next three months in Hell.

* * *

**Notes:  
**

**I really felt that Harry had a way with animals that was not expressed to its potential in the books. To me it always seem that Harry wasn't Auror material either. I really have no idea if there is a magical vet, but hey, now there is. The wonders of fanfiction! Veterinarian Potter has a nice ring to it.**

**I promise the next chapter with Harry in it will be more exciting. It will not the upcoming chapter but most likely the chapter after next- so chapter 8? **

**Next chapter the countries come back- and some things may or may not be answered. We'll see.**

**(This chapter was posted on March 29, 2014).**

**Next Chapter: A Surprising Lead**


	7. A Surprising Lead

**Warnings- language from South Italy.**

**This chapter was posted on the same day as chapter 6, just in case someone overlooked it.**

* * *

Chapter 7- A Surprising Lead

The days quickly lead March into April, and then into the warmer May, yet England was having trouble enjoying the changing season from spring to summer. In between working through both his Muggle and Wizard responsibilities he was trying to find something, anything, about Lodovico Gereon.

So far the man remained illusive and shrouded in mystery.

The report back from Gringotts came as negative for anyone with that name owning a key or in possession of someone else's key in any country of the world. South Italy had called back saying he had nothing on his end either, and Dumbledore had written saying that Gereon had left Hogwarts the day after he arrived, and had avoided being confronted by the Headmaster. Even more troubling was that Quirrell also disappeared the same day. Were they connected in some way? Gods he hoped not.

Both England and South Italy contacted the other countries in their little circle and they too began their search for the mysterious Gereon. However, all sources continued to return empty handed.

"Why didn't that old grandpa of yours ever think of sending you a picture of the guy?" Prussia whined. England had set up a video conference on his laptop for himself, South Italy, and Prussia, who was sharing his laptop with Canada, who had happened to be visiting during the time. The other countries were not available.

"His name is Dumbledore," England huffed, smirking inwardly as Canada elbowed the albino in the ribs, causing the man to squawk. "And how could he have gotten a picture if he didn't have the chance? Gereon had come and go like a ghost. Not even most of the students saw him."

"If it weren't for the portraits and the sightings, I would've thought that the old man was mental and this guy didn't fucking exist," South Italy said, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

"Perhaps he just doesn't want to be found," Canada murmured softly, his brows furrowing slightly as he thought. "Why haven't you asked your Potions Master- Snape- about his Master?"

"Because then he would know we were looking into it, and Dumbledore doesn't want either of them to know we were looking into this matter," England grumbled.

"Then what about the other Masters? I'm sure they have some fucking brilliant idea."

England sighed. "I've tried that, Lovino. However, it seems like my giant git of a brother was right in saying that this Gereon was an unofficial. Their potions aren't patented and therefore they can submit potions by owl and not in person. Sample of the potion and the directions and effects and it can be approved. They haven't seen the man, or what he looks like, only his name was familiar because he signs his notes and letters with them to show that they were authentic and from the same man."

There was a quiet knock on the door on South Italy's end. The Italian grumbled and left the laptop behind in the living room where they had sat in meeting a few months prior. A few muffled words and footsteps later, South Italy appeared once more, with Vatican slowly trailing behind him, a small box of pastries in his hands.

"O-oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" the man asked, shyly waving to the screen at the other countries.

"Ooo, what did you make?" Prussia was almost bouncing in his seat. North Italy, and sometimes South Italy, brought packages of baked goods to their meetings, of which they had gotten from Vatican, as the man never went to the world meetings but felt responsible to send something in his stead. The goods were usually gone within the first five minutes.

"I tried my hand in making churros," the charcoal haired Italian replied, opening the box to show off.

"We're getting off topic here!" England snapped as Prussia drooled at the sight and South Italy took advantage of being in the same room of said churros and shoved one into his mouth, smirking. "And since we're grasping at straws anyway- have you heard of the name 'Lodovico Gereon'?" It was a hit or miss- England really didn't know if he was going to get anything out of Vatican. After all, if banks full of goblins and Ministries of Magic couldn't find the man, what was the chance that one shy, poor excuse of a country with not a magical drop in his body would know?

However, it seemed that England was incorrect in his assumptions. A look of recognition flickered across the pale face. "Gereon? I know the name."

"You do?" All four countries blurted out, three of them getting closer to their screens to listen while South Italy just stood there staring at the man.

Vatican blinked at the sudden interest, shifting uncomfortably for a moment before continuing. "Yes. Gereon was a family I knew from... long ways back." He set the box of churros down, his eyes looking at any place but at the countries. "Through plagues and wars, there were only the father and a son and daughter were remnants of a wealthy merchant family. The wife, Felicia, died when the daughter, Oliva, was born."

He fiddled with the box some more, trying to keep his hands busy.

"Salvator- the son- died in a war. His father, Virgil was devastated." Vatican pressed his lips together into a thin line. "I carried his body back to his family, so he could have a proper burial."

"Virgil didn't want to leave his home, but he wanted Oliva to be married to a nice man and taken as far away from all the wars, the disease, the hopelessness. I knew of an English noble who might help." A sad smile crossed the pale man's lips. "They were smitten. They got married and he took her back to England with him, and with the death of Virgil shortly afterwards, the direct Gereon line ended."

The room was quiet for a moment. England knew that there was more to the story, but he, like the others, did not try to push the man further. He had heard how fragile Vatican could be on certain topics from Italy, and he did not want to see what exactly that meant.

"Do you know who she married?" Canada asked softly, breaking the silence.

"Hm? Oh..." Vatican thought for a moment. "His name was Pegasus. Lord Pegasus Black. A nice man. He was little strange, like the Gereons. A different sort of strange, but they were compatible and understanding."

"What?!" England gaped at Vatican, staring at the man, his outburst startling him. The Blacks were one of the darkest and mysterious family in all of Britain- hell, even the whole of Europe. If Lodovico Gereon really was a Black...

"Bloody hell... and we have no way to prove it either," England muttered aloud, rubbing his face with his hands. The Blacks were notorious for keeping family life secret. If one got married or had an illegitimate child, no one outside the family would know, not even the Ministry until an 'appropriate time', or the time where it would be the most in their favor. A whole family of secrets and psychopaths, that's what they were.

"What do you mean by strange?" Prussia asked, hoping to distract Vatican from England's outburst, as he looked a little flustered by being shouted at.

"They...just were. It's hard to explain." Vatican tried to piece his words together, although he still trying to recover from England's reaction. "Things happened when you least expected it," he stated slowly when he finally got passed struggling for words. A sudden look of suspicion dawned on his face as he turned studying dark eyes onto the four. "Where are going with this?"

None of them could reply as the door opened and the voice of North Italy sounded. The charcoal haired man murmured his apologies and excuses before he hurried out of the room to greet the other Italian- or rather to run away from the interrogation.

South Italy turned to the others. "He's fucking onto us."

England, who was still getting over the fact that Gereon could be an unknown Black in disguise, silently agreed. They were going to have to tread carefully around Vatican from now on.

* * *

**Notes: **

**So we have some background on the Gereon line! Turns out they're married into the Blacks. But is Lodovico a Black? Who is he really? We shall see. **

**Vatican returns to the picture. He will continue to show up, as well as the other countries. **

**Please review! **

**(This chapter was posted on March 29, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Summer Survival**


	8. Summer Survival

**Warnings- little language, mentions of abuse. Nothing graphic or in detail, but thought I'd warn you anyway.  
**

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Chapter 8- Summer Survival

Harry's summer was turning out to be complete and utter shit. There was no other way to describe it. Vernon had picked him up at the train station with a hissed warning that if he stepped one toe out of line he was going to be in a world of hurt. That 'one toe' happened to occur the following week, when the walrus of an uncle had a business guest over for dinner. Of course when Petunia was carrying over the pudding she had tripped and dropped it all over the floor.

He hadn't even been in the house at the time, as he had been told explicitly NOT to be anywhere in the neighborhood where he could be spotted and make them look bad. However, it still had labeled his fault for the accident and Harry had found himself a nasty surprise when he opened the front door and found a face full of fist. The beating he had gotten had been particularly nasty and afterwards Vernon had thrown him into his bedroom and locked him in.

That had been six weeks ago.

With the meager morsel of soggy vegetable soup coming through the cat flap installed in his door once a day and his one trip to the bathroom ever morning, Harry was surprised that they hadn't resorted into putting bars on his windows to make his bedroom all the more like a prison cell.

He was lucky that they hadn't questioned the location of his trunk, which he kept shrunken during the day, keeping it hidden under the loose floorboards in case he received a visit from his oh-so-loving uncle. The oaf came in more and more over the course of the days to add onto his countless bruises and fractured bones.

Harry was forever grateful for his friends' foresight and send him potions and healing creams by Hedwig.

This particular evening was especially brutal. Not only had he not been given his soggy soup (not like he ate it anyway, with his store of preserved food in his trunk), but Vernon had a bad day at work. That meant an extra beating. He was pretty sure his left arm was broken by now, as well as several ribs. And he just used his last Pain Relief potion.

A slightly wheezy sigh escaped the boy as he ran his fingers over his ribs. He was lucky he had stocked up on food, or he would be back to skin and bones he had been the previous summer. He was still not to normal weight, and he could feel his ribs. He winced as he prodded one. Yup, that one was broken.

He perched himself at the end of his bed, gazing out of the open window. The darkening sky was sending eerie shadows into his room, but at least he had natural light here, unlike his cupboard. Harry wanted nothing more than to leave this hellhole and live somewhere far away. Hell, he would take a room at the Malfoy's if given the chance. Hedwig was off delivering mail to Fred and George, so he was left alone in his room.

A scratching noise disturbed the peaceful evening. Harry brushed it off as a bird or a mouse below, but when it continued, and sounding like it was coming closer, he became curious. He glanced about his room, hoping it wasn't a rat that somehow found its way into his shrunken trunk. Yet when he glanced back at the window, he nearly fell off his bed in surprise.

A furry face stared at him with dark gray eyes. Without a sound apart from its scratching of claws it climbed the rest of the way up the wall and onto his windowsill. It looked like a cross between a ferret and a cat, with its long body, its tail almost as long as its body, rounded ears and short legs. Its fur was a silvery gray with dark gray spots, almost like a leopard, but with a striped tail.

It sat down on Harry's windowsill in an almost cat-like way, tilting its head to the side as it watched him with curiously intelligent eyes.

"Hello," Harry said softly, getting over his initial shock. "And what might you be?" It wasn't a magical creature that he knew of, but it seemed to have a similar feel that the Post Owls did. Perhaps it was someone's familiar? He tried to rack his brain for any clue as to what the creature might be, but he came up with nothing.

Reaching a hand out, he let the creature blinked at it, sniff, then bumped its head against his hand. Its fur was soft, yet not silky smooth like that of unicorn fur or coarse like Fang's, Hagrid's bloodhound. A small smile appeared on Harry's face as the creature arched its back under his hand, much like a cat would, before it hopped off the windowsill and onto his bed.

Perhaps it was lost, Harry mused to himself, watching the ferret-cat sniff and poked its narrow snout into the worn spots of his bed before exploring the other parts of his room such as under his desk and the floorboard where he kept his trunk. It returned to the bed to sniff him instead, taking a look at his oddly angled broken arm before looking up at him with wide, almost pitying eyes.

"It doesn't hurt too much," he told the ferret-cat. "I took some Pain Relief potions."

It stared at him for a moment with almost too intelligent eyes before it glanced around the room once more. Suddenly it hopped off the bed, and before Harry could stop it, scooted towards the cat door and disappeared through the flap.

Harry silently cursed the creature, hurrying to the door and tried to see if he could reach it by sticking his arm through the small hole. His fingers brushed against its tail before it moved out if his way. He could hear claws scratching at the door as it... climbed up?

He couldn't help but stare at the door as he could hear the creature's silent antics, the bolt-locks sliding back one by one and the keys left in the locks turning. Hesitantly, Harry reached out and tried the doorknob- to which the door opened silently. He stared at the creature dangling from the door, its gray eyes staring deeply into his green ones before it hopped off the door and onto the floor, where it scurried over to the loose floorboard, where it sat down, gazing at Harry patiently.

A million thoughts were running through Harry's head. He was free of his room- he could leave! But where would he go? He could go to The Leaky Cauldron, but he might be recognized. He had some Muggle money stashed away from where he converted his Wizard money for it through the mail during Christmas. He could hail a cab, or a nab a bus at the bus stop, and go to London. He could rent a room for a few nights in the Muggle city, and then perhaps go through Diagon Alley under his Cloak and get himself to Knockturn. He had heard through Fred and George that Knockturn was the place to go for anything dark, cursed, or anything really. He was sure that there was probably some darker version of the Leaky Cauldron there. He could come up with a disguise...

Crossing his room as quickly as he could, ignoring the pain in his broken and bruised body as the potion began to fade from his system, he pulled out his shrunken trunk from below the floor. He unshrank it, grabbed his wand- which he stowed away in his sleeve- and a Muggle jacket that was much to big for him before he shrank the trunk again to hide in his pocket.

He would think of what to do when he got himself to London. There was no way he was staying here.

Harry slipped out of his old room, shutting the door silently behind him. He tiptoed down the steps, making sure to be careful on the squeaky step near the bottom, and exited the house through the front door.

"I don't care if you're owned by some dark wizard," Harry told the ferret-cat, which had continued to follow him down the street. "I shouldn't take this as some chance encounter, but you got me the hell out of there, and I thank you for that and can completely ignore the fact that you're probably own by some sadistic evil wizard." He got a slight twitch of its ears for a reply, but Harry wasn't expecting much from it anyway.

It was completely dark by the time Harry reached the bus stop, the streets only lit by the lamps. Harry curled up on the bench, wrapping the jacket around himself. He was glad it was warm out and not raining, but he still had to wait all night for the first bus that arrived in the morning. Still, he wasn't going to complain. He was getting away from the Dursleys, and that was that.

The ferret-cat creature had sniffed around the current location before being distracted by something and disappeared. Harry didn't think much of it, his sore body demanding him to get some sleep. With a pained sigh he laid down on his back, and soon dozed off into a deep sleep, exhausted from the long walk with his injuries as well as his magic trying in vain to keep up with healing his battered body.

He wasn't aware of a faint popping noise and a figure approaching him, the ferret-cat perched on its shoulders, nor did he feel being picked up gingerly from the bench and disappearing from the bus stop with the figure and the creature with another quiet pop.

zzz

Far away in Scotland, in a castle where school was in session for nine months out of the year, no one was awake to notice that several of the trinkets in the Headmaster's office ceased to function, nor did anyone realize that more were going to stop spinning or puffing out smoke in the near future.

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**Notes:  
**

**Harry just got kidnapped by some sadistic evil dark wizard! Or did he? **

**And the Dursleys will find themselves at the hands of justice soon enough, don't worry. **

**And I apologize if this chapter was a bit darker than I've typically been writing. I tried writing it as lightly as possible. Hopefully I can keep the mood of future chapters light too. Go too deep and I might not get out of it. **

**Thanks for the reviews and follows and favorites! You guys are the best!**

**(This chapter was posted on March 30, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: What a Marvolous Day **


	9. What a Marvolous Day

**Warnings- Language, lots of it, ranting, and very broken up thought process (it is done sort of on purpose).  
**

**Also a warning that someone is very very Ooc in this chapter. It kind of came out like that as an accident and somehow in my illogical part of my brain, I think it makes absolutely perfect sense and I don't have the heart to fix it. Whoops. **

**THIS CHAPTER IS VERY OFF THE WALL. You may skip this chapter and pretend it doesn't exist, but some of the points mentioned will be carried out throughout the story. Otherwise you can read and enjoy the insanity of it all.  
**

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Chapter 9-What a Marvolous Day

When one spends a decade as an disembodied spirit, there is no distractions or bodily demands to keep from thinking and losing train of thought. And one Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, had a lot to think about.

In hindsight, many of the things he had done should've been handled differently. His goals of keeping the Muggle and Wizard worlds separated were somehow lost along the way- Really, what had he been thinking, believing that killing Muggles and Muggleborns would prove anything? Muggles weren't weak- they just happened to be at a disadvantage. True, Wizards could kill a Muggle with one spell, but so could one Wizard die from a shotgun to the face- as one unlucky Death Eater had found out. That didn't prove Muggles to be weak- it proved that they would protect themselves by any means necessary. And if one thing Muggles did not like was facing an unknown variable. They would either examine it like a scientist with a strange cell under a microscope or shoot first, ask questions later. Wizards treated magical creatures the same way, so it made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Fucking hypocrites.

And Muggleborns! Half the time they weren't even true Muggleborns, having a squib somewhere within their family tree. Study of where Muggleborns come from was not a very well researched area, but with ten years to ponder on the topic, he had some ideas, of which once he would look into when he got himself a body.

Speaking of bodies, there was the topic of how he found himself in this damned predicament. He really shouldn't have jumped into the whole Horcrux business without completely researching it. True it did it's job- he wasn't dead, was he?- but breaking his soul up into several pieces didn't help matters, especially when he got the idea from a book he had stolen from Dumbledore's office of all places. Really, he shouldn't known the old coot was up to something, leaving a dark and mysterious book on forbidden magic laying around for any student to stumble across. He had been young and stupid, and really should've listened to Abraxas Malfoy instead of jumping into it like some bloody arrogant Gryffindor. He had been eager to prove himself to a fault, and now look where it led him.

He was pretty sure someone had been pulling at his strings like a damned hidden puppet master by the time he had gotten wind of the Prophecy. Why did he go right after it like a dog to a bone when he knew Divination was utter shit? He took one day of it during Hogwarts and dropped it for Arithmacy when the Professor at the time told him he was going to fall off his broom that day. Too bad the bastard didn't know he didn't like flying on brooms because he could levitate and fly by his own power, thank you very much.

Then there were the Potters. Why did he pick them out? Hell, there were thousands of baby boys born at the end of July in the entire world! Any of them could be tied into the Prophecy- if it wasn't a bunch of hot air- but nooo! He had to go and pick one from England! Then he didn't noticed, but now when he thought back to that time, he could feel the power of a ritual around the home. Someone had been playing with Black Magic, he had felt its tendrils coil about him, but at the time he hadn't paid any attention to it. Fuck, he shouldn't have been bat-shit crazy, because then he wouldn't be in this predicament! Gods damned mother fucking shit of a self-fulfilling Prophecy made by some cunt of a hag in a dank hole-in-the-wall owned by the bloody brother of a bastard of a manipulative old soggy cock sucker!

Okay, so he had to work on his aggressive tendencies. One step at a time here. Body first, insanity second, and then wring Dumbledore's neck. Yes, that's about right.

Working on the body part- a pathetic excuse of a man had stumbled across his spirit, wanting power or fame or something of the like. He didn't really care and possessed the stuttering man anyway, who just so happened to know the whereabouts of the Philosopher's Stone.

He was pretty damn sure that this was also Dumbeldore's working, but without much other choice he played along, got himself into Gringotts and then into Hogwarts where he tried- in vain- to come up with some plan to get himself through the third floor corridor and to the Stone. As time went on, and the host he was in was weakening, he had started to panic- no, Dark Lords do not panic!- he was concerned, then, that he wouldn't make it to the Stone in time before his host completely fell apart.

And then some graying blond haired man showed up at the door to his office one Friday in March. The man was fucking nuts; giving him a notebook and blabbering about it being a very good book review and that he should really REALLY read it. Then he stared straight into his eyes- the silver orbs seeming to look right through him, and smiled, waved, and proceeded to shut the door in his face.

Perhaps those eyes could see right through him. After all, the review was actually a copy of a book on Black Magic and Rituals, illusioned to look like a simple notebook. Inside the cover was a note, of which contained a page number, a warning that the Stone was no longer within Hogwarts, and a strange comment at the bottom that said _"I've heard that goblins would do anything for a bit of gold, even forge family trees. How does politics sound? Britain could use with a little serpentine in the Wizengamot"_.

It had been both cryptic and bluntly simple at the same time. The page number was that to a ritual to both regain his body as well as reabsorb either soul fragments or stored magic within objects to the person if the item or items were used within the ritual. It was complex and highly volatile if done wrong, but it was exactly what he needed. The comment was also intriguing to him- in truth he had never thought of claiming his title as Lord Slytherin, or Lord Gaunt for that matter. Technically he could, because he was last remaining blood relation to both Ancient lines. There were no estranged cousins or long lost squibs- both lines killed them off- and the disinheritance of his mother did not apply to any heirs she produced aka him. Why in the hell he didn't think of this before? He blamed his stupidity and blindness to finding decent objects to host his soul bits. There probably was some highly complex compulsion charm on that damn book he had stolen or something! Damn the bastard named Albus Dumbledore!

Not wanting to make anymore mistakes, he had pondered and thought over this new idea, and then a little before four in the morning on Saturday, he had decided to fuck it- packed what little he felt would be of use, made a short stop at the Room of Requirement, and fled Hogwarts grounds. Next stop- the Gaunt ring and the Slytherin Locket.

The ring was easy enough, but then he had ran into trouble with the locket. Apparently, judging from the oh-so lovely note left behind, Regulus had replaced the locket with a fake and hid the real one. Or destroyed it. No, he didn't- he could still feel the soul fragment, all of them were still safe and sound. So then where the bloody hell was it?!

No, he couldn't be angry now. He still had three left to pick up- maybe only use two. Although the ritual wouldn't destroy the host, he wasn't eager on sicking Nagini into the middle of it.

Speaking of Nagini... he had to pay a visit to Abraxas.

He stopped off at the Malfoy Manor- what luck! Lucius was there too! Of course he had to explain everything though to them- Abraxas, the fuck tard- couldn't help but laugh at his not-so-eloquent use of language throughout the whole explanation. It wasn't his fucking fault he had lived with poor excuses of Muggles and the docks had been much more interesting than the rest of the slums of a town when the library was closed and ten years of kicking himself and his damned twenty-twenty hindsight didn't help matters!

Still, it had some use this time around, other than the old Malfoy Lord's amusement. It proved to them that he wasn't as insane as before (well, not suicidal maniac on a warpath insane- he would probably fit perfectly in a Black Family Reunion though), and agreed to assist him in the ritual.

So with the Helga cup taken from the vaults in Gringotts, the Diary from the hidden room in the Malfoy basement, Nagini from Abraxas' care, and with the help of the Malfoys- the ritual was ready, set, and completed by the end of May, and Tom Marvolo Riddle had a body again, as well as four of his six soul pieces back tucked away snugly where it belonged. His head did feel a bit better- but his temper was still shorter than ever, but at least he hold his tongue without insulting everyone like a drunken Muggle. Mostly.

However, he still couldn't help but feel that, apart from Nagini and the Locket, there was something else missing... Hm... he would have to look into that.

But that was for later! Now he had to sneak around Dumbledore and shake the Wizarding World of England in the new and improved ways. His days as a spirit helped him realize that Britain was utter shit compared to many other countries of the world. They were so... dark ages! Even Russia, the most 'barbaric' of the European Wizarding societies with its deep roots in Dark and Black Magics, had superior schooling and government than Britain did!

So, to sneak around anything that Dumbledore could plan beforehand, he and the Malfoys schemed and plotted. It was Narcissa who came up with the idea of changing his name through a variation of a Blood Adoption. Fucking yes- he had always hated the name Tom Riddle! Plus it would get around any magical oaths or Family Lineage potions- of which Dumbledore would easily recognize and assault him for.

With a lucky Malfoy squib cousin- who had lost her magic through an illness as a child living in France who quickly agreed to assist, and paying the goblins in Gringotts more money than one could shake a stick at, Tom Marvolo Riddle had become Marvolo Arviragaus Malfoy- a man who had been a spawn of an unagreeable encounter with the Malfoy squib and Tom Marvolo Riddle during the time where he had dropped off the face of the earth after he left Hogwarts (really he had been looking for the Founding Four's trinkets). One night and -whoops!- he had been born. And it hadn't been until he did a Family Line test in Gringotts that he found out he was actually a Gaunt- and the Slytherin heir! No one would be ever the wiser. And all he had to do was throw in a French accent. Who's his daddy now? He was!

No, he was being too childish with all of this. He was a Slytherin Heir- soon to be Lord. He had to keep these raging emotions in check.

Now that he had a background story, a body, and several soul pieces back in place, Marvolo did something he never done before- he celebrated, broke down, and swore up a storm in a ten minute span. Really, damn his emotions- where did all of these come from? He was like a moody woman!

Abraxas nearly passed out from laughing so hard. Really, the man had been like a brother to Marvolo than he cared to admit, and now that they were technically related, he could hex the living shit out of him with Stinging Hexes and get away with it without the wards trying to boot him out. Both of them knew they had parts to play out in public, as the Slytherins they were, but with family inside the Manor, there was no need to be actors, and Marvolo was more than happy to curse the living fucking hell out of Dumbledore and himself to being such an arrogant stupid prat over fifty years ago. Maybe he could surprise the old coot by cursing like a sailor at him- and then take advantage of the surprise by hexing his old wrinkly arse?

Still, he needed awhile to recuperate from being insane, get his raging emotions in check, and catch up on a decade's worth of shitty laws and regulations before he could shake the Wizengamot's foundations as he took the seats of Slytherin and Gaunt. Then he could work his ways through decades upon decades of utter bullshit and useless fuckwads and get England back to standards of the rest of the world. It would be a lot of work, but one sailor-mouthed playing-French previous Dark Lord was up to the challenge.

Also, did he mention that the Dark Mark was also fucking with everyone's minds? No? Well, it was, and those without good Occlumency had been easily affected by his insanity, as it seemed to seep into the connection between him and the Marks. No wonder everything went to shit in a hand basket. Well, he could use that to his advantage- as son of Lord Voldemort and Parselmouth, he could remove the Dark Marks on their arms and prove that they were just being spelled to be evil and- hey!- a dozen or so Lords and Lady from Ancient and Nobel houses were back on the Wizengamot floor! That would also explain why the Malfoys, Snape, and the Blacks hadn't been effected by it all- their skill in Mind Magic was practically legendary. With all the secrets they kept, they had to be. No nosing into their business unless you wanted to be mind raped to a vegetable.

Still, that also brought up the question as to how he, as Voldemort, got so fucked up. One word- Dumbledore. It had to be. But how could he prove it?

It was July now, and Marvolo had spent most of the time after getting his body tying to get himself back into gear while fixing the remaining Death Eaters- including Snape and the Malfoys- of their Dark Marks. Of course only a select few knew he really was the former Lord Voldemort- the others learned of him being his son, and he was stepping up to the plate after his father's failure to take things to new heights. Now Markless and less crazy, he had several Ancient and Noble houses on the Wizengamot under his belt, ready to support him when he stepped onto the floor as Lord Slytherin and Lord Gaunt. Well, it also helped that removing the Marks was saving their sorry arses from being caught eventually, so they owed him. Suck on that, Nott. The bastard was all for trying to undermind him until he mentioned that little detail.

He could almost see Dumbledore's face when he showed up looking like an older Tom Riddle from his school days with slight Malfoy features. It would be glorious retribution, especially when Snape didn't tell the old coot of his return/ arrival of the son of Voldemort. He wouldn't none the wiser. But that will be happening later- he needed to do research and curb his new found tendencies to not give a fuck about what people thought of him first.

And it seemed like Marvolo or Snape weren't the only ones not playing by Dumbledore's rules anymore, when Snape came in one day in the middle of July saying that one Harry Potter had disappeared from his home and couldn't be found. A smirk crossed the man's face as he listened to Snape rant about Dumbledore and Potter and his suspicions of Potter's home conditions and Dumbledore's knowledge of it but neglected to do anything about it. Things were indeed were going to be start shaking, and Dumbledore was going to topple off his high and mighty tower. Hard.

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**Notes-**

**So I really wanted to do a Voldemort chapter, and you got it. I had a lot of things to cover, and it turned out to be a rather large rant from a slightly still insane mind. Oh well. It fits for all intensive purposes. Ten years as a disembodied spirit really does a number on you. A strange ritual may not have helped either.  
**

**And I really didn't mean for him such a potty-mouth either! It just... came out when I was typing, and I couldn't bring myself to change it. Really, everyone makes Tom Riddle/Voldemort either sadistically evil or... Lordly? But he lived with Muggles in a poor orphanage until he was old enough to bail ship, so somehow through writing he became a "Fuck everyone, I do what I want" sort of person when he isn't playing the ever perfect Slytherin or insane by breaking his soul to bits. Whoops?  
**

**Changed his name a bit too. Why not? He's not playing Voldemort anymore so he can do whatever the hell he wants to do. Anagrams were so 1940's anyway. **

**And Abraxas is amused. I think it's because Marvolo acts like a cold saint one minute and then is a drunken sailor the next. Such elegance. It's highly entertaining.  
**

**The Malfoys really aren't as cold as they play out to be. They'll show up later, I think. **

**And hey! Nagini was chilling with the Malfoys the entire time. One mystery solved! **

**Also, the Dark Mark thing? It somehow made complete sense to me that Voldemort's insanity somehow seeped through his connection to them through the Dark Marks. But he's fixing it, so it'll be better now.  
**

**(This chapter was posted on March 31, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: A Family Encounter**


	10. A Family Encounter

**Warnings: Some language, not as much as the previous chapter.  
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Chapter 10-A Family Encounter

The first thing Harry noticed when he gained consciousness was how comfortable he was. He racked his tired brain, trying to figure out where he was without having to open his eyes. He had ran away from Privet Drive and fell asleep on a park bench at the bus stop. This certainly didn't feel like a bench.

Green eyes fluttering open, Harry sat up suddenly, the blankets slipping down to pool on his lap. Gripping forward, his fingers found his glasses on a bedside table and pushed them up onto his nose to look around.

He was in a rather spacious room with an entire wall full of shelves with small statues, figurines, bits of pottery, and other trinkets that made Harry immediately think of a museum. There was a desk pushed up against a corner piled high with scrolls, bits of parchment, old tomes, and scattered quills. Large glass doors opened up to a balcony overlooking rolling water, a warm breeze rustling the light beige linen curtains. His bed was teak, carved images in the headboard and posts depicting strange plants and flowers. Harry spotted his trunk pushed up against the wall near the doorway, and his wand was laying on the same nightstand he had found his glasses on, as well as a small pile of letters.

The sight of it so close to him comforted him. It seemed that, whoever took him here was not keeping him captive or try to keep him from running away. In fact, it seemed as if they had simply moved him in for a longer-than-temporary stay. Even Hedwig was here, sleeping on a perch near the balcony doors. She would've mauled anyone who was even potentially a threat to him.

The first thought that came to mind was that it was a professor's home, but he quickly rejected the idea. The way Dumbledore had brushed him off when he went to his office the night before leaving Hogwarts to tell why he didn't want to go back to the Dursleys, he would've either woken up back in his room or in the Hospital Wing where he then would be sent back to the hellhole. In his condition any other Witch or Wizard would've taken him to St. Mungos, not to their home. Unless, they knew who he was and didn't want to cause a commotion. Or they kidnapped him. Still, there was the Hedwig fact.

It was then that he noticed a pair of gray eyes staring at him from the foot of the bed. Harry blinked, looking at the ferret-cat creature. It was the same one that let him out of his room. It was sitting next to a folded pile of clothing- a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both of which looked something similar to his size. It was at that sight he realized he wasn't wearing anything besides his underwear and clean feeling. The thought of someone having stripped him made him flush for a moment, taking his eyes off the creature as he reached over and grabbed the clothes. They were his size- thank goodness for that. He didn't have to wear Dudley's old baggy rags.

After Harry was dressed and wand tucked safely away on his person, the ferret-cat hopped off the bed and padded over to the door, looking expectantly at him.

"Well, you've lead me to a better place than where you've lead me out of," he said to the creature, opening the door. He did thought before that anyplace was better than the Dursleys, and this place certainly beat that by several leagues. He still had to find someone though. Judging from the fact they left him his things, his wand, and his familiar, Harry doubted he was going to be locked up anytime soon.

Harry followed the ferret-creature out of the door and into the hallway. The walls were full of paintings and art pieces, most he had never seen before. They weren't magical paintings, but he could feel the magic around him, sending a shiver up his spine. He didn't know what to think of this place- it was cluttered with old things, like a museum that had started to run out of shelves to put things. Or a hoarder of old expensive things.

He passed several doors and doorways leading into other rooms as the ferret-cat lead him further and further into a maze of walls and hallways. Suddenly it scampered forward, disappearing through an open door and into the lighted room.

Cautiously Harry crept to the doorway, peering into the room. It was a kitchen, with wall to ceiling cabinets, long dark green granite counter tops, sun filtering in through large windows onto a round claw-footed table with mismatched chairs. Seated at the table was a man with dark brown hair falling to his shoulders in waves, slouched over a steaming mug. He wore silken robes the color of teal with silver trimming- expensive fabric, but of simple design, with nothing flashy or extras added to it to show off the wealth. The man looked up, staring at him with icy blue eyes on an elongated face with high cheekbones and sharp chin.

"Morning, Mr. Potter," the man said, lifting the mug up in greeting before taking a sip from it. He lowered it to look at the ferret-cat, raising an eyebrow at it before looking at Harry. "Seems like you're doing better. You were a mess when I first saw you." He pushed a chair out with his foot, gesturing to him to sit down. Harry did.

"Um, thanks, for healing me."

The man snorted. "That was the old man. I helped, but he did all the work. He's out causing mass mayhem at the moment." He took a sip of his drink- coffee, Harry's mind supplied at the smell. The ferret-cat hopped up on the kitchen counter, its long tail curling about its feet as it gazed down at them from its perch.

"So..." Harry said slowly. "Where exactly am I?"

"This place I like to call the Hoarder's Hideaway," the man drawled, rolling his eyes. "The old man loves collecting and hiding things away in this estate. He keeps all the magical stuff hidden away, though. No idea why. Guess he doesn't like having potential thieves having it easy, although no one can get into this place without his help. Don't know why he bothers. Hungry, kid?"

The man had finished his coffee and had gotten up, opening the fridge to peer inside it. "I can cook toast, and that's about it. Been here for eleven years and still can't cook worth a damn. No house elves, no servants. It's horrible."

"So why stay?" Harry asked. He hoped this wasn't some place people get trapped in and could never leave. It's like some horror story of a haunted house where a group gets trapped and they all die one at a time in dramatic and painful ways.

"Hard to be living out there when you're supposed to be dead," the man said, gesturing out to the window with a wrapped loaf of bread. "And if anyone else finds out, I'd have an army of angry Wizards after my hide. And quite frankly, I don't want to end up like my unlucky brother and get thrown into Azkaban without trial."

Putting two slices of bread into the toaster the man turned, giving Harry a strange look. "You probably don't know my brother, do you? Living with damned Muggles. He's your godfather, after all."

"I have a godfather?" Harry blurted out, staring at the man with wide eyes.

The man snorted. "Figured you knew nothing. Sirius Black. Friend of your father's. Technically we're your cousins, as your grandmother was a Black." He shrugged. "Yet again, in Britain everyone of pureblood decent is related. Quite disturbing, mind you. No wonder we're all so fucked up."

Harry couldn't help but gape at the man. He had a godfather, and he was related to this man? He heard of the Blacks- they were Dark, but their family was extensive. Sirius Black probably got arrested for something Dark, but there were more than just his godfather out there he was related to. Why didn't he get placed with one of them when his parents were killed? And why didn't his godfather get a trial?

"W-why was I placed with my Muggle relatives when I have family in the Wizarding world?" he asked hesitantly, unsure if the man would answer.

A sigh escaped the man near the toaster. "Hell if I know. I suspect someone up top was pulling strings. Knowing your parents, they wouldn't have left you to those Muggles in their will. But, then again, their will was never read." A sneer crossed his face as the toaster popped up and pulled out slightly shinged toast, of which he tossed on a plate and set it before Harry.

Harry picked up a piece to nibble on. He had worse and he didn't know how long he had been asleep.

The ferret-cat blinked gray eyes at them during their conversation before it had hopped off the counter and disappeared. Harry watched it go, almost disappointed that it was leaving.

"It does that," the man said, noticing Harry's look.

"But I don't even know what it is," Harry said, before looking up at the man. "And I don't know who you are, either."

The man leaned against the counter. "That's a genet, and you can call me Regulus. No 'Reggie' business. I'm not five. The old man's Gereon, but he'd probably want you to call him Lodo, or Vico, or Lodovico, or some other bizarre name."

Harry nearly dropped his toast. "Gereon?"

"Had the fun in meeting him already?" Regulus smirked as Harry scrambled for his toast. "He's a bit off the wall at times, but he's friendly. He helped get you out of that Muggle place and here to patch you up, after all."

"And I'm glad you are better!" In through the doorway came the graying blond-haired Italian, dressed in a gray turtleneck and black trousers. He beamed over at Harry, giving him a happy wave. "See you're up and about. Oh, Reggie, toast isn't a decent breakfast! He's a growing boy!" He tisked and moved over to the fridge, missing Regulus' scowl. "So what have you two been discussing this fine morning?"

"He's been asking about his family," Regulus muttered, still sulking over his undesirable nickname.

"Hm? The Blacks? Yes, you are related to them, aren't you, Harry?" Gereon closed the fridge with a snap, a carton of eggs and packaged sliced ham in his hands. "I suppose I'm related to you as well. The Gereons married into the Blacks years ago. I'd probably be a distant uncle, I reckon."

Harry couldn't help but gawk at the man. He was related to him too? He snapped his mouth shut with a click, frowning. Things were getting more and more mysterious with his placement and family relations. He would have to check up on his family background sometime in the near future.

"Is this your home, then, Mr. Gereon?" Harry asked, looking up at the man as he busied himself at the stove. He noted that Regulus was taller than Gereon by a few centimeters.

"Yes it is. It's the old Gereon Estate, but it's been dubbed the Hoarder's Hideaway in recent years." He shot an amused look to Regulus, who had seated himself at the table again. "Apparently my tenancies to keep things has become something of notice." He pulled out a whisk from a drawer, wrinkling his nose at some red sticky substance Harry couldn't identify clinging to the metal brackets before he tossed it into the sink and pulled out a cleaner one to beat the eggs with.

"Why did you help me?" Harry didn't understand why they suddenly had swooped in and picked him up like that. One minute he was sleeping on a bench, the next he woke up to a bed. "I mean, I don't mind the help, but what do you get in all of this?"

"Frankly, I was worried," Gereon said, as he cooked up the eggs and ham together. "Severus had told me of his suspicions of your... conditions... and when I saw you, I was quite appalled that he didn't stick his beak-like nose into your business sooner."

"But he's too busy with his head up his arse," Regulus added in. "He hated your father, James, so he just related that hate onto you."

Gereon sighed and nodded. "He's quite childish about this grudge. But anyway, Umbra- that's the genet- Reggie and I went and picked you up. I wasn't going to just leave you there and let them throw you back to those dogs! You were quite a mess. I knew then that Dumbledore had to know of your home conditions, and that you would enjoy a few days of peace while watching him and the entire English Wizarding world squirm at your absence. What can they do without their Savior-Boy?" He made a face while Regulus snorted. "It's pathetic, really. No wonder England's so backwater compared to the rest of Europe. Pinning fame on a twelve year old boy for something no one know what happened when he was naught but a babe..."

Harry let the man mutter under his breath, a grin blooming on his face. Leaving the Dursleys was the best decision he ever made.

* * *

**Notes:**

**The Gereon's related to the Blacks, who are in turn related to the Potters. It makes them all one dysfunctional family. Also Regulus' alive! Shenanigans! **

**The ferret-cat's a genet. A common genet to be exact. The wiki page gives a lot of info, if you're curious. **

**Lodovico thinks that Harry's fame is a load of crock. Harry agrees with him.**

**This chapter's much more mellow than the last one. Can't promise on the next one, though.  
**

**(This chapter was posted on April 1, 2014)  
**

**Next Chapter: Three Men in Different States of Panic.  
**


	11. Three Men in Different States of Panic

**Warnings: Some mild language.  
**

* * *

Chapter 11 -Three Men in Different States of Panic

Albus Too-Many-Names Dumbledore was in a dilemma. More than a dilemma- he was in a crisis. He had woken up one morning in July and found that several trinkets in his office regarding one Harry James Potter were no longer spinning and puffing and humming like they were supposed to. The blood wards around Number 4 Privet Drive were weakening when they weren't supposed to, the several tracking spells on Harry's person and things had been disabled, and no matter how many times Dumbledore tried to locate him via other means came up with no results.

To make matter's worse, someone had tipped off hints of abuse done to the Boy-Who-Lived and his absence to the Ministry and Muggle officials.

Privet Drive had been crawling with Aurors, then police- the Dursleys taken away for questioning. Dumbledore did not have time to hide the situation under a rug as the Prophet came in that evening: _**Special Edition: The-Boy-Who-Lived Abused and Missing!**_ News traveled fast, and Dumbledore had an inkling that someone was behind all of this.

He was lucky that no one had caught wind of him being Harry's Magical Guardian- technically illegally if he hadn't sealed the Potter's will more than a decade ago- but he was sure the clock was ticking on that too, and he knew how those filthy goblins would gladly hand over that bit of information when they learn of how one of their richest vault holders was treated.

If goblins loved anything the most in the world, it was gold and the people who let them hoard it away for them.

Dumbledore had to play the concerned Headmaster and Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot for the time being, even when he really wanted to call upon the Order of the Phoenix and scour the land to drag Harry back under his watchful eye. The Headmaster knew that the Dursleys wouldn't be the best of places for Harry to grow up in, but it was necessary in order to get the boy to be obedient and ignorant. The boy was needed for when Voldemort returned- he knew the Dark Lord would- and Harry being a spoiled brat would not get rid of Tom. So Dumbledore hid him away from the Wizarding world with a less-than perfect Muggle relatives in hopes that obedience an unquestioning loyalty to be beaten into the boy when he came crawling into Hogwarts.

It was for the Greater Good.

His plans had gone splendidly- to leaving the book with the information Tom desired most in his office, the faking of the Prophecy to the Black Magic Ritual he had performed around the Potter's home without anyone's knowledge that destroyed Tom temporarily. The slow decent to madness of Tom and his followers had been an added bonus. When Harry reached Hogwarts age, Dumbledore had hinted to Quirrell to take a short break from teaching to go to Albania- and mentioned of the Philosopher's Stone's whereabouts to the man. The stuttering fool had walked straight to Tom's disembodied spirit and gone straight to trying to steal the Stone.

By then Dumbledore had persuaded his old friend Nicholas Flamel that the Stone was not safe and let him hide the Stone in Hogwarts. Flamal had been hesitant, saying that he knew of a better place that would suffice, but with some under the table Compulsion Charm, the key to the Vault was handed over.

His plan on testing Harry had been succeeding- the boy falling for every hint and clue of the Stone- but then one day a tiny Boreal owl and a Bearded Vulture had come soaring in with news that would crash his plans, although he did not know of it then.

Dumbledore knew little of Severus' mentor, other than simply that. The Italian had avoided confrontation by Dumbledore or by anyone for that matter besides a glimpse- all except Severus and Quirrell. And then the next day, both the Italian and Quirrell were missing, and he had received a letter from Kirkland that information on Gereon was unusually few and far between. Actually, Kirkland said there was absolutely nothing on the man and even with others digging deeper into the mystery the man didn't exist- but Dumbledore knew that no one couldn't just not exist when he had clearly been in the castle. To top it all off, he tried talking of destroying the Stone to the Flamals, who had not taken it well at all, then they had the gall to tell him that the Stone he had was a copy and that he was no longer welcome into their home.

Now Dumbledore did not like to make assumptions, but he had a sinking suspicion that Gereon had something to do with all this mess that has been coming up as of late. With news from Kirkland in the beginning of summer that the Gereons were related to the Blacks, and that Lodovico Gereon could as well be a Black, the Headmaster's suspicions were only increasing.

However, with no proof and one Harry James Potter still missing, Dumbledore had to figure out how messed up his plans were with this development and fix them soon. The clock was ticking, and the Headmaster had to swallow the sinking feeling that things were not going to get better anytime soon and focused on fixing his plans before they all became unraveled.

zzz

Severus Snape should've seen this coming. However, when it came to seeing chaotic situations in the future, Snape was prepared for any and all- even Lord Voldemort himself. All except two: Harry Potter and Lodovico Gereon.

Snape was all prepared at the beginning of the school year to hate the son of James Potter. Yet when the boy came in looking uncomfortably similar to what he looked like years ago during his first year at Hogwarts, Snape began to suspect something was amiss.

When Snape had mentioned his suspicions of Potter's abuse to Gereon, the man had told him countless times to act upon them, but Snape couldn't. For one, the boy looked exactly like his deceased father in every way from the messy rat's nest for hair to the way he placed his feet when he walked- all except his eyes. Then was the fact that Dumbledore was breathing down his neck almost constantly, reminding him that Potter's family life was perfectly fine and everything was dandy.

Gereon must have seen Potter during his visit to Hogwarts, because he had mentioned it once more to him to at least go check up on him. And when Snape refused, coming up with some lame excuse not to, he must have struck both a nerve and the end of Gereon's patience.

_If you aren't going to get up off your sorry ass and check up on him- I'll go over there and do it myself! That boy has spent God knows how long in that condition and even though I barely know the boy I can see the signs- yet no one at that damn school seems to even notice! And you! You know exactly what abuse is! I remember pulling you out of a similar situation years ago, and I am not afraid to do it again! _

Two weeks later after getting that letter, Potter had disappeared, and there was no hide nor hair of the boy. The Ministry got wind of it, and now all of Wizarding England was up in arms. First it was thought the boy had simply ran away, but when no one could find the boy in places like the Leaky Cauldron or in his friends' homes, rumors that he had been kidnapped was wide spread.

It only made Snape's stomach churn.

He should've had listened to Gereon, should have checked up on Potter long before this. Gods, if Gereon really did take Potter, he could be charged with kidnapping! By Merlin and the Old Gods combined, Snape really hoped that no charges would be pressed, that Gereon would be caught. He knew Gereon would not hurt a hair on Potter's head, the man was too kind, but after years of studying under the man, Snape knew that Gereon's well hidden secrets would come to light quickly under the scrutiny and anger of thousands of English Wizards. He didn't know how well the man would take that.

If Gereon took Potter, that meant that the boy had been in pretty bad condition. Merlin, he was an idiot.

Yet, if Gereon did have Potter, then both of them were well hidden away, and his old mentor would not give Potter up until he knew that the boy would be placed in more appropriate care. Potter was in safe hands for now, but with how the Ministry and Dumbledore were going on like chickens with their heads cut off trying to fix the situation and Gereon silent, Snape didn't know if he should be worried of Gereon being accused of kidnapping, or growing so attached to Potter that he would want to keep him himself.

However it ended, Snape hoped that it would end soon. He was tired of suppressing his worry and guilt.

zzz

England hadn't been able to sleep a wink for four days straight, now. Being woken up to the news of Harry Potter being missing put a giant wrench in his mood. Not only that half the Wizarding world was calling for his Muggle relatives' heads, he had to deal with the incompetent Minister of Magic sputter about while the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Madam Bones directed all the traffic and work in dealing justice as well as trying to locate the missing Potter Heir.

He was angry, oh rightly so. He was angry at Dumbledore, who he knew was Harry's Magical Guardian, for placing the boy in the Muggles' care and had the gall to tell him that the boy was alright. He was angry at the Minister for not doing his damn job properly. He was angry at himself for not having someone, anyone, either Muggle or Wizard, to check up on the Boy-Who-Lived. He was loaded down with paper full of supposed sightings, calls for justice, and potential adoption papers, most of which was a load of bullocks or he couldn't answer for at the moment. To top it all off, it was July and there was _still_ nothing on one mysterious Italian, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth after visiting Hogwarts.

England had one massive headache, and nothing seemed to make it go away.

It wasn't until nearing the thirty-first of July when Scotland came into the room, a picture in hand when his headache really started pounding. He didn't say anything to the disheveled Englishman, simply pushing the image in front of the man. Groaning, the man took a glance at the photo.

Then stared at it.

"When was this taken?" England asked, his fingers grabbing at the photo, his knuckles white.

"This morning," Scotland said. "Romania sent it over about ten minutes ago."

"Romania? But that would mean-"

The scarlet-haired country chewed on the end of the cigarette before pulling it out of his mouth. "No one in this country could find Mr. Potter because he isn't here. He's in Turkey. Istanbul, it be exact."

England slumped in his seat, the photo fluttering to the floor, the image of a black haired boy with glasses and a lightning bolt scar just barely visible on his forehead beside a graying blond man and a taller wavy haired man with a scowl walking through the street markets. Two out of the three being all too familiar, the third filling in descriptions made by a portrait back in March- and one of the trio was recorded to be dead for over a decade.

"Bloody hell."

* * *

**Notes:**

**And things start to get rolling. Will Gereon get charged for kidnapping or will he simply hoard Harry away? **

**Snape worries. It's highly out of character of him. Do Dungeon Bats have hearts? I think so. **

**England's getting closer, but the headache caused by Wizards rampaging about because of a missing Savior is getting unbearable. Poor England. **

**Scotland shows back up! He'll be up and about. **

**(This chapter was posted on April 2, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: He Owns What?  
**


	12. He Owns What?

**Warnings: Maybe mild language, but that's it. Oh, and probably some Occness. Stress, it is.  
**

* * *

Chapter 12- He Owns What?

England's foot tapped an irritate beat against the marble floors of a private room in the Gringotts Bank in Istanbul, waiting impatiently for the last member of their group. He, Romania, and grudgingly Scotland had come all the way across Europe in hopes to figure out this mess and get Harry Potter home before his migraine got any worse.

"Don't get yourself all worked up. Your man in colorful robes will show up," Scotland said, chewing on the end of his cigarette.

"I'm not worried about that! It's that he's always fashionably late!" England huffed. "And stop playing with that! You look like an idiot!"

Scotland looked down at his slightly shorter brother, and, with a grin, pulled the cigarette whole into his mouth with his tongue and swallowed it. England pulled a disgusted face while Romania stifled a snicker.

"I hope I did not hold you up, Kirkland." One Albus Dumbledore approached the small group, wearing an obnoxiously canary yellow robe. Behind him trailed a darker cladded Snape.

"You brought a guest," Scotland said, eying Snape appraisingly. "What's he here for? Sniff him out?"

England swatted his brother on the back of the head.

"An extra mind may help us with this case," Romania said, playing peace keeper while England and Snape shot Scotland dirty looks while Dumbledore seemed oblivious to the obvious. "Does he know about us?"

"He knows that you three are helping, Mr. Lupei."

Romania nodded towards Dumbledore, his red eyes flickering over to the group before smiling. "Right then, let's get to business. I called you here because I heard along the vine that before Gringotts came into the area, all the estates and holdings were dealt at a place referred to as the Rock Wall. Turk wouldn't tell me much about it other than that it probably doesn't exist anymore, but one of his advisers got me in." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. "It's under Fidelius, and many of the land deeds have already been transferred over to Gringotts. However, the way Turk reacted to when I questioned him about any land owned by the Gereons, he became... agitated."

"He knows something and he won't tell us," Scotland murmured, pulling out another cigarette from his pocket. "And if the Gereons are as old as I've been told by you lot, then they and Turk's were probably enemies at one point."

"That doesn't tell us where Potter is," Snape drawled. "How do you know for sure that he would be on a property owned by a Gereon?"

"What I would like to know is why would your 'Master' kidnap a famous figure and take him to damn nowhere with a man whose supposed to be dead!" England snapped, the tips of his ears turning red. He was tired of all of this. He just wanted to get the bloody boy back to Britain, and then they can play around with all the specifics.

He wrenched the photo out of his pocket, shoving it under Snape's nose. "If that doesn't look suspicious, then I'm a flobberworm!"

Snape look the photo cautiously, looking it over with dark eyes. His pale face became more pallor as he stared at the picture. "Regulus is alive?" he asked quietly, sounding hoarse all of the sudden. He looked like he swallowed an especially sour lemon; caused by either from the fact that his former master would kidnap a child, someone he thought to be dead was alive, or a mixture of both- England didn't know nor cared at that point. His headache was too much.

Dumbledore looked surprised as well at this bit of news. "A Black member is involved in this? This is quite the predicament."

"This is why we're going to do this as quickly and quietly as possible," Romania said, his red eyes flickering between the two wizards. "As far as we know, Regulus was a Death Eater. He is a potential threat. Gereon, we suspect, is not who he says he is, but is actually a Black as well. Who for sure, we do not know. Their family is full of metamorphmaguses and animaguses, as well as their ability to hide secrets almost legendary. The only reason why they would be here is if they had a mansion or manor here. Offically the Blacks do not have any holdings in this area- the closest being in Greece. The most plausible assumption is that they are living under a house in the Gereon name, of which would be recorded in the Rock Wall, since it had not been transferred over to Gringotts."

England grudgingly agreed, and with little other conversation the three nations and two humans made their way through Djinn's Market- the magical street in Istanbul- and down a narrow alleyway, where they stopped in front of a brick wall.

"Read this and then walk through," Romania murmured, reading the parchment himself before walking straight through the old stone and mortar. England took a look at it after his brother.

_Rock Wall, The Sleeper's Way_

The place was dark, dusty, and full of floor to ceiling shelves stocked full of papers. The place was lit by small magical orbs that floated aimlessly through the narrow passages between shelves.

"Lovely place," Scotland said, gazing about the room. "Anyone got a match?"

"Stop being such a prat," England growled, not risking in swatting Scotland in the cramped conditions.

An old woman with curly white hair and in a dusty cream colored robe approached them. "What can I do for you, sirs?" she asked, her voice just as wispy as her appearance.

"We're here to check to see you have any information on the Gereon Estate, ma'am," Romania said politely, bowing his head slightly to her. England noticed his eyes glowed a slight eerie orange in the semi-darkness. Snape seemed to notice too, as he was giving the nation a strange look.

"We have become aware of a situation and the information you provide is most crucial," Dumbledore said in his grandfatherly voice- England felt that it was very misplaced here.

"The Gereon Estate, hm?" The old woman tapped her chin in thought. "Yes, I think I recall coming across such a shelf." She hummed before turning and seeming to float down the narrow passages. "This way, gentlemen. And please be careful."

England was growing tired of weaving and ducking through these narrow passages. It was too claustrophobic for his liking- and he could barely see what was in front of him if Scotland's fiery hair didn't practically glow in any situation.

It was when the shelves became too dusty and some were falling to dust and the cobwebs became more than bothersome when the woman stopped. "The Gereon Estate," she murmured, reaching out to trace a finger around one of the several scrolls there. "What would you like to know of it?"

"Do you have where this Estate is located?" Dumbledore asked, seeming to take the lead in the discussion. England noticed Romania and Scotland share a look- one that Snape noticed too. The Potions Master smirked, but in the eerie glow of an orb he looked unusually pale, more so than usual. And was that a glimpse of worry that flickered in his eyes for a brief moment?

"It is under spells," the old woman said as she unraveled one scroll to look at. "None that they use today, no, but a powerful, secretive one nevertheless. They will be impossible to break."

"How about the wards?" Dumbledore prodded on, trying to get some information, if anything useful.

"What is written here, they are very old, but powerful in their own right. Many would have fallen by now if no one had maintained them." She peered over the scroll. "Since you cannot find it, someone must be living there, I presume? How peculiar. The last blood heir to the Estate had died in England hundreds of years ago."

"Who owns it now?" England interrupted, cutting off whatever Dumbledore was going to say.

The woman rerolled the scroll in her hand, picking up another as she looked through them. Her brow suddenly creased as she read the last scroll. "A man with no last name," she murmured. "Written by Virgil Gereon, this scroll declares that, since the death of his son and the marriage of his daughter who no longer lived in the area, a close friend will become the owner of the Estate."

"Who is it?" Dumbledore said, almost too forcefully.

The woman gazed at the sheet in her hands. "He is called Varinius," she said as she read the end of the scroll. "The name is unfamiliar to me, which is most peculiar. A man by that name does not exist within any of the scrolls or deeds within these shelves, or those that had been transferred out, nor have I heard anyone go by that name in all my years."

"T-This can't be right." England blurted suddenly, his brows furrowed as he stared at the woman. "Let me see that."

He almost snatched the scroll from her hands as he looked at it, reading what it was written. It was in an old version of Latin, but he could make out what it was saying. And the name.

"What's gotten your panties in a bunch?" Scotland asked, eying his brother. The others looked just as confused. Snape almost appeared uneasy in the semi-darkness.

"Varinius. That-that's..." His hands were shaking now. No, it couldn't be- Maybe he didn't know, or he had forgotten about the place. But that, that _man _could not have ownership of the Estate!

Shoving the scroll back to the woman, England grabbed Romania and Scotland, England forcefully pulling them back towards the exit, Romania calling over his shoulder to the woman, thanking her for her assistance.

"What has gotten into you, Kirkland?" Dumbledore asked, sounding almost _too_ gentle when they went back into the warm sunlight. "You seem shaken up by the news. You know who owns it, then?"

"Of course I bloody know!" England shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, shaking in anger. "That pathetic excuse of- of- he can't be the owner! He better not have been lying to us this entire time, hiding Gereon away under our very noses! I knew there was something _wrong_ with him, but this!"

England almost punched a wall- if callused hands didn't wrap around his wrists, keeping him from pacing or hitting anything. "Calm down," Scotland murmured, drawing smooth circles into England's wrists. "Take a deep breath and tell us what you're going on about."

England took a deep breath, his face red from his outburst. "Varinius," he almost growled, his shoulders quivering with rage. "It-it's-" He gestured with his head to get Scotland to bring his ear closer to him. Leaning forward, so his lips almost touched Scotland's ear, England opened his mouth.

"It's Vatican. Vatican's name is Varinius."

* * *

**Notes: **

**Lupei- Romania's last name. In truth there isn't actually one, but it is the more popular fan made name for him, so I used it. **

**Turk is Turkey, in case no one caught onto that. **

**Uh-oh. Vatican's in trouble now. Has he lied, or held information from them, or does he really not know? We'll see. **

**Romania and Scotland don't know who Vatican's name is because it is never mentioned. England only knows because probably Romano or Italy told him once. **

**Everyone's under stress, that may be the reason why they act sort of weird. Apart from Scot. He does his own thing**

**Thanks for all the faves/follows/reviews! You guys are awesome! :3 **

**(This chapter was posted on April 3, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Vocal Visits and Varinius.  
**


	13. Vocal Visits and Varinius

**Warnings: Language mostly. Other messages at the bottom. Also this chapter may not be as well written as the others, as I have found myself in a rather nasty splotch of unadulterated laziness that makes me want to do absolutely nothing and it was like pulling teeth trying to complete this chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 13 -Vocal Visits and Varinius

Scotland knew all his brothers had a temper. Hell, he had the worst out of the lot. But seeing England being weighed down by the stress of his missing Wonder Boy and frustration that things weren't being solved as quickly as he would like it, the fiery-haired man knew that it would only be a matter of time before something would make the Englishman explode violently.

What caused England to snap was very interesting indeed, and Scotland, if he wasn't busy trying to keep his enraged brother from Apparating straight to Rome, would have agreed to England's anger- and in this state he probably could without Splinching himself. He did not know Vatican's real name, nor have met the man, but Varinius No-Last-Name was quite a curious name for anyone, even a country. If England said it was his name, then it was.

It took a good twenty minutes for the Scott to calm England down, the others just letting him do his thing. Really, it takes a short tempered person to calm down another one. Who knew he had the patience to deal with his younger brother, whom he just loved to tease and explode? However, this wasn't the time nor the place to push all of the Englishman's buttons.

"Do you mind if you three stay here? We'll go to Italy and clear this up." Scotland looked over at Romania, the man nodding. Dumbledore looked like he wanted to protest, but decided against it. Good. Scotland may have patience for England today, but not for the white bearded man in a monstrosity of an outfit.

Scotland steered his younger brother away from the other three, keeping both hands clasped tightly on his shoulders to keep him from doing anything stupid. "Now that you got your panties somewhat untwisted-" That got him a dark glare, "-we will go to see Lovino. You don't know where this Varinius' house is, do you?"

England was sulking, but he grudgingly shook his head. "I don't think anyone knows besides the Vargas brothers," he muttered, pulling out a pocket watch and holding it out to Scotland, who immediately recognized it as a Port Key and took hold of it as well, and the two of them were whisked away from the streets of Istanbul.

Fifteen minutes later the pair found themselves on the steps of the shared home of the Italian brothers with South Italy leaning against the doorway with his arms folded, looking just as irritated as England. "So, you are saying that your missing Savior Boy is hiding out in a house in Istanbul...that is owned by Vatican?!" South Italy rolled his eyes to the heavens as if to ask for divine intervention. "Fucking brilliant. That damn old incense sniffer probably doesn't even know about it- or if he does doesn't know anyone's using it. That damned bastard and his damned secrets. I'll show him where to shove his fucking-"

"NOW will you tell us where he lives?" England snapped, starting to get worked up all over again.

"You two angry mongrels better not go breaking down doors," Scotland told the pair as they began to march themselves down the street in a cloud of bubbling rage, the emotions almost tangible. He let out a heavy sigh. He may not have met Vatican, but he was beginning to feel sorry for the man. He was going to get two very angry visitors.

Vatican's house was... Quaint wasn't the correct word for it. A little run down? No, it wasn't that shabby- apart from a slightly overgrown side garden. It was much smaller than other countries' houses- hell it was smaller than Scotland's house, and he thought he lived in a tiny thing.

Scotland gazed about the house while England banged his knuckles against the door rather loudly, the tips of his ears red with suppressed anger. The fiery-haired man looked up when he heard muffled footsteps descending a staircase and soon the door opened.

Vatican wasn't what he expected.

The man's charcoal hair was disheveled, sticking up awkwardly on one side as he had a pen pushed behind his ear. A streak of ink was on his thin cheek and dotted his fingertips. He had been busy doing paperwork, Scotland presumed. Yet it was the state of his eyes that made the man pause in that assumption. The charcoal colored eyes looked... haunted, shadows trailing dark markings below them. He doubted the man had any sleep in the last several days.

The appearance of the man seemed to have distracted South Italy from his previous fury as the Italian clamped a hand over England's mouth, which was ready to spout out something foul.

"Oh... h-hello," the charcoal haired man managed to murmur, although his gaze seemed to look through them for a moment before snapping back to the present. "I'd figured someone would come eventually..." He let out a small airy sigh before stepping aside and gestured them inside.

"You know what this is about, don't you?" England managed to growl out after pulling South Italy's hand from his face.

Vatican looked weary as he settled down at the small round table in the kitchen, the others seating themselves around it. "I have a suspicion-" he began, but was cut off by a triumphant 'Ah-ha!' from England.

"I knew you were behind this!" the Englishman exclaimed, jumping up from his seat to point a finger at the thin Italian. "You're aiding a kidnapper and hiding them on a property you own! I knew you were strange, but this..this... you evil, cold-hearted, sly, good for nothing-!"

England continued to rant and rave, and Vatican began to look more and more withdrawn. Yet with every belittling word, Scotland noticed that the man's hands were clenched into fists, and the knuckles were turning positively white. There was a slight tremor in his thin shoulders that could have been mislead as stifled tears, but his eyes were dry and the charcoal gray seemed to turn darker and darker while his face remained downtrodden. And as a poor excuse of an angry Slytherin, England did not notice.

But South Italy did.

The fiery haired Scottish and the always scowling Italian exchanged exchange a look, having a few second debate in utter silence before they both reach for England. They grabbed his arms, pulling him back down into his chair and covered his mouth with their free hands.

"I apologize for my rude prat of a brother," Scotland said, ignoring said brother's struggles to get free. "He has the tightest bunched up panties all up in his business for the last few days. It's been wearing down his patience."

Vatican blinked, his eyes shifting over to his fellow Italian before looking down at his clenched fists. "O-oh... I-I understand..." He removed his hands from the table, hiding them in his lap. "But... he does have a point... just the wrong assumption."

"Then clarify to us why you fucking neglected to tell us that you own the old Gereon Estate?" South Italy asked, slowly relaxing from his previous tense position. Scotland had to ask him about that later.

"You never asked," Vatican murmured, fidgeting slightly in his chair. "I have come into possession of the place when Virgil Gereon passed on. I go there every once in awhile to check up on the place."

"Then you can give us the bloody keys and directions on how to get there and we can handle the rest!" England managed to say, pulling the hands from his face for the second time before the two covered it back up again.

Scotland noticed that Vatican's shoulders slumped slightly at England's remark. "It's not that simple," he murmured, his eyes on the table in front of him. I-"

He paused, chewing on his lip as he lifted his gaze to look at them. "I know what you are. What you do," he said softly. A corner of his lips twitched as he saw them staring at him slack jawed. "It's hard not to notice when a nine year old child turns into a pony before your very eyes. I became acquainted with Witches and Wizards all around during the wars. They were... not as secretive as they are today."

Scotland lowered his hand from his brother's mouth, watching the man. It was curious as to how much this thin man was hiding from everyone... He wished he could Legitimize him, but as a rule designated by the other magical countries, they couldn't do so to any fellow country, even if they were not magical themselves. Some memories were best laid to rest in one head rather than multiple.

"So, you know magic and you cannot tell us where the house is because the Gereons were magical?" South Italy said slowly. "The Estate's behind wards? Fidelius Charm?"

Vatican slowly nodded. "Even if I wanted to tell you, no one but those related to by blood or by magic can enter," he explained in his quiet voice. "If there had been a kidnapping of a child, as England said, they could not have brought him to the Estate unless the both of them were related in some way. And to the Blacks, family was everything. Although at times those who ended up married into the Black family were brutal to their children, anyone related to the Blacks by blood were well protected and guarded by each other."

England gritted his teeth. "You're saying that the Gereon who took Harry Potter supposedly did not kidnap him and you can't help us get him back?"

"I am saying that if a Gereon did take this Harry Potter, then his actions were justifiable and had purpose. He is with blood family, now, in a safe location. He is safe."

"Wait a moment. You may not tell us where the Gereon Estate is, but you could tell us who Lodovico Gereon really is," South Italy butted in suddenly. "You said before that the direct Gereon line died out years ago so this man cannot be a true Gereon."

Vatican's shoulders tensed up for a moment, his gaze drifting away. "I cannot," he murmured. "But he is related and wished to use the Gereon name for anonymity's sake. His request was without dark intentions or to shy from a crime, so I gave him permission to do so."

"And you were sworn to secrecy," Scotland murmured, chewing on the end of a cigarette. "So the Wonder Boy did not get kidnapped and safe from harm, but you cannot tell us who exactly took him or where." He breathed out a heavy sigh. "Then, can you go to them and ask to at least bring Potter back to Hogwarts on September 1st?"

THAT got stares from both his brother and South Italy. England looked like he wanted to protest, but Vatican nodded quietly to the fiery Scot.

"Why did you ask him that?!" England hissed to Scotland when they were out of the tiny house and walking down the street back to South Italy's place. "He needs to come back now!"

"Because this is the best option we have without causing a fight or scandal," Scotland said, idly thinking that he deserved a smoke for once instead of letting it hanging. "And you need to leave the poor man be. He looked like he just crawled out of a coffin." His green-yellow eyes turned to look over at South Italy. "And why were you so tense when Vatican was getting bitched at by my oh-so-loving brother?"

The Italian glanced over at the fiery haired man and blew out a sigh, his lips pulling into a thin line. "You don't want to see that man crack," he muttered. "It's a fucking nightmare. You two are lucky to never have seen it, and England's damned lucky he had us to shut his fucking trap before that bastard could explode."

The trio walked in silence for a few minutes before England spoke up. "Now what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"We wait, brother mine. We wait."

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**Notes:**

**Not very exciting. England almost walked straight to his death, if Romano's words are anything to go by. Good thing he has friends to keep him quiet.**

**And the Gereons were magical! Woo! And Vati knows. He probably knows more that he cannot say.  
**

**Sorry if this chapter took longer than the others. I hit a nasty lazy stretch. **

**THIS STORY NOW HAS 15 FOLLOWERS AND 9 FAVORITES! YAY! Thanks guys!**

**And reviews! You guys are boss!**

** Maelstrom Alert- It's not that simple. If it was the story would be much shorter. Complications~!**

** Mason the Cat- Oooh, a hypothesis? Do tell. And Prussia and Gilbird to the rescue! VROOOM!**

** PCheshire- I already PM you, but Dumbledore will get his just desserts soon enough. And I hope there is enough Scotland in this chapter for you.**

**(This chapter was posted on April 7, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Dear Madam...**


	14. Dear Madam

**Warnings- Some mild language. Also this chapter's not well written, or at least to me. I've been procrastinating and ideas get cut off and butchered when I do that. Also wrote this while trying not to fall asleep. Quality might be shoddy. Oh well.**

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Chapter 14- Dear Madam

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or DMLE for short, did not know whether to be frustrated or pleased. She was a woman of justice, and the current case involving one Harry Potter was a prime case of slapping down the law into the faces of lawbreakers, and this case proved to have lots of smacking for justice. She had come into the office early one morning to finish backlogged paperwork when she found a note sitting innocently on top of the pile. After doing a quick scan for curses or spells and finding none, she examined the note, one that lead her to Number 4 Privet Drive with a dozen Aurors and several Squib police officers. She had been there to watch in grim smugness as a walrus of a man and a horse of a woman were dragged off for child abuse and neglect. Their son was out of the home and had been tracked down at a friend's house three towns over later and was brought in for questioning as well. The Dursley adults will have a nice view from behind barred windows in the near future.

However, with that bit of justice done, the mess was far from cleaned up. For one, the Potter Heir was still missing and searches for him were coming up empty handed. Personally Amelia thought that it was best that way. Although it would be better if he was confirmed to be alive and well, if the boy couldn't be found in Britain then he was most likely in a different country all together, where he was out of the spotlight. That boy had so much trouble trailing after him that perhaps this was his chance of enjoying a break from it all. He wasn't even twelve yet and he had so much piled up on top of him. He was a child for Merlin's sake!

Two was that the Prophet. The paper was a two-edged sword for Amelia. It exposed the terrors of where Potter had lived through to the public, causing a huge uproar, and yet said public were doing their best to aid-unhelpfully- in finding the boy. Speculation and rumors filled the papers and moving pictures, dragging in everything and anyone who might have a smidgen of a clue of his whereabouts or childhood. Although it did allow this critical situation to not be brushed under the rug from higher ups who would do anything to keep their names from being tarnished (not checking up on the Boy-Who-Lived would do that), it just brought more annoyances than if the case hadn't been published. She still wasn't sure which one would have been better.

Lastly was one Albus-fucking-Dumbledore. Amelia knew the man well from the Wizengamot, and she knew that he would've been sticking his wrinkly nose into the Potter business, hovering over everyone and badgering anyone for clues for his whereabouts. The fact that the man DIDN'T seem to do anything at all put Amelia on edge. He either knew the boy's whereabouts and didn't want to tell anyone, or he was hiding something big that would put someone- or himself- into a bad spot.

Now nearing the middle of August and the trial of the Dursleys pending until October, Potter still missing, and sick of false leads from blabbering fools, Amelia found herself behind her desk in the Ministry tackling a particularly nasty pile of papers that had been accumulating since the Potter case began. She really needed a secretary to sort out what was serious enough for her consultation and what was just someone overshot a Stinging Hex and hit the wrong person's arse. Of course her department kept getting its funds cut shorter and shorter in favor of other 'important' departments, so a secretary was wishful thinking.

"Please stop lurking at my doorway and take a seat or git," Amelia said without taking her eyes off the paper of impending court cases. A grunt and uneven clunking told Amelia who came into her office, and the shutting of the door and swishing of a wand made her smirk. Paranoid old bastard. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Moody?" Amelia said, leaning back and finally looking up from her paperwork to look at the grisly and overly scarred Auror with a stern expression.

"Security check, Madam Bones," Moody replied smoothly, a serious look on his face. "Make sure there's no Death Eater lurking in the ceiling." It only lasted a moment before both of them cracked a grin. When Amelia had been an Auror in her younger years, her first scene to secure with Moody resulted in her side comment of 'There's no one here. It isn't like a Death Eater's going to fall through the ceiling or something' ended up with a Death Eater cracking through the old plaster and plummeted headfirst into a chipped toilet.

Since then they made sure to check even the strangest of places for hiding criminals.

"Now my old friend, what are you really here for? Judging by the Silencing Charms you pulled up it must be pretty important."

Moody grunted, reaching a scarred hand into a pocket to pull out an envelope. "This came in just now by a Bearded Vulture. Nearly bit Powell's hand off when he tried to snag the letter away from it." From the semi-impressed look on his scarred face with his Magical eye staring at a strange angle at a nearby wall, Powell from the Check-In Desk deserved having his hand almost gnawed off by a large vulture and said bird went up in respect points in Moody's records.

Amelia frowned, taking the letter from the man. If he was handling it he had already checked and double checked it for traps, but she did so anyway, waving her wand on the letter before setting to examine it. On the front, written in small but fine curving letters was _To Madam Amelia Bones, Lady of the Noble House of Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. _The back had a wax seal of a shield with a dove on top and crossed pikes behind it. Well, someone certainly knew her, but she didn't recognize the crest, and neither did Moody when she showed it to him.

Careful not to disturb the seal, she cut the letter through the side, sliding the paper out. She skimmed over the neat and eerily familiar calligraphy before she began to read aloud for Moody.

"_Dear Madam Bones,_

_This letter may come as a surprise, as we have never met nor spoken before. However, the current situation deems it necessary for communications to be opened between us. _

_As it is well known, the Potter Heir has disappeared from his home in July and has not been seen by the public, which has caused rumors of kidnapping to spread like weeds. The fact of the matter is that he was not kidnapped. He had left his home on his own will, and I had gone and retrieved him._

_Yes, Harry is currently with me now. Yes he is safe. No he is not in Britain. _

_It turns out that Harry has Black blood in him, of which makes him related to me. At this fact I wished to helped him from the predicament that I heard from a friend he may have been suffering under, yet had done nothing about it. Although he is family, our relation is too distant to obtain immediate custody of him. I know of the importance of his position in Britain, and as I lack an English citizenship, he will need a guardian within the country. Yet I do not and will not give him up to just anybody. I don't want him being used for his money or his fame, or be sent back into a similar living situation he just came out of. _

_This is where I ask for your assistance, Madam Bones. _

_Due to the 32nd Law of Winniford established in 1651, a minor who lost his guardians and until another guardian is procured, the minor can request to live temporarily in the house of one the Wizengamot. Although this law has rarely been used and is mostly forgotten, both Harry and myself feel that this is the best way to keep Harry safe during his return in Britain. _

_And both of us feel that you would be the best for his temporary guardian, if you wish to be so. _

_You may accept or decline, but if you accept, you simply recite the Oath at the end of the letter and magic will make you his guardian. However, Harry will remain with me until September 1st, where he will board the Hogwarts Express. This will give the public to calm down a tad and being behind the school wards will keep him safe from the insane public when they catch wind of him being found and returned. _

_Also, did I mention that being the Potter Heir's guardian grants to access to his family's Gringott's account and records? There may be some surprises there that I trust you will be able to handle accordingly._

_- Lodovico Gereon". _

Amelia leaned back in her chair, eying the letter with a thoughtful look. She was offered a chance to be a temporary guardian for Harry Potter. It was surprising that this Gereon, whoever he was, was actually related to the boy and happened to have him. She would be suspicious of this normally, but she knew of the law that the letter mentioned and the Oath was authentic to it as well. This man sounding too secretive, but if she got Potter, then no one could just swoop in and try to butter anyone up in court to give him over to someone like Malfoy or another family who would use him as a political crux. Or have Dumbledore try to pull his grandfather act and stick him with a family that he supported.

"You should take it," Moody's gruff voice disturbed her train of thought. "Take it and go straight to the goblins. If how crazy this case has gone so far, talking to them as it was suggested will only dig up more dirt."

"That and this writing's familiar to that of the tip off note," Amelia added, reaching into her desk to pull out the note she had found in July. The writing was a match, the same small, neat curving lettering scrawled on both. Whoever this Gereon was, he was doing well in exposing the injustice done to the Potter Heir and wasn't sitting on his arse twiddling his thumbs. The fact that he was looping in on all of this slowly growing case that she was beginning to suspect that the hole went much deeper than the eye could see. She gazed at them for a moment before looking up to meet Moody's eyes- or eye, as his Magical Eye was busy looking in the back of his head. "Want to start digging?"

A wolfish grin was all of a reply she needed.

* * *

**Notes:**

**Bones and Moody come into play! I was rather disappointed in the books when Bones had such a minor spot before keeling over. And Moody! He died such a stupid death. Urgh. He was boss'n'  
**

**And it seems Gereon's branching out into a full scale investigation and has kindly brought in the justice wielding Amelia Bones. Dark Lords and Dumbledores beware.**

**Also made up a law. Haha.**

**And I used Amelia's name because of no particular reason. Also she has sworn to the name of Justice to punch all evildoers in the nuts. **

**I tried to bring some humor into this chapter since the last couple have been rather... meh. I don't know how well I did in my tired mind. **

**(This chapter was posted on April 14, 2014)  
**

**Next Chapter: September 1st**


	15. September 1st

**Warnings: Language? I suppose? Longer than usual chapter. Also apologies for lateness and badness.  
**

**I tried to make this chapter a bit more humorous than previous ones. I'll also try to post chapters more often, I'm just lazy. **

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Chapter 15- September 1st

It had been the best summer that Harry could ever remember. The following weeks of July that seeped into August were full of learning, exploring and the hopeful sense of freedom that being out of the muggy weather of England brought to the now twelve-year old's chest. Regulus seemed to have brought him under his wing, teaching Harry the traditions and customs of Purebloods that he should have received if he had gone anywhere else but the Dursleys. The supposed-to-be-dead Black also told stories of Harry's parents, his godfather Sirius, as well as the histories of both the Potter and Black family lines. He hadn't realized how much he had been missing, lacking the knowledge that most other Wizarding families would've taught their children when they were still in diapers. Still, it was better late than never.

Regulus also lent a hand in teaching him spells (apparently the Trace in his holly wand had been disabled by the wards, as well as any Tracking Charms on his things and his person), and much to Harry's delight and Regulus' tutoring, he was now at a Forth Year level for Defense, a late Third Year for Charms, and a beginning Third for Transfiguration- a year ahead of any of the others in his Year.

The constant presence of Regulus brought the two close, and Harry felt that the brother of his godfather was more of a cousin than Dudley would ever be.

The only thing Regulus couldn't teach Harry was Potions. Apparently his skill in Potions was at par with his cooking skills- of which after witnessing the older man sticking a package of popcorn into a toaster, causing the whole thing to burst into flames, it was safe to say that the entire building would've been blown sky high if Regulus even tried to teach Harry Potions.

Gereon was the one who took up the role as the Potions tutor for Harry. Although the man was often out of the house doing business, he always seemed to find time between 7 PM and 9PM on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays to show Harry the loops. His teaching style was, as Regulus put it: "Unorthodox". True, Pureeing Lava Clams in a blender and then smashing Four-Headed Red Egret eggshells with a nut chopper would never be done in any Potions classroom anywhere, not with such blatant use of Muggle tools, but it made things much easier than having to cut everything by hand. It appealed to Harry's cooking skills, his hands working almost instinctively instead of struggling to cut unruly Jumping Beans with a knife.

It wasn't without purpose, however. Many of the tools, Gereon explained, had better precision of cutting or extracting that made the potions more potent that would never be achieved if done by hand. Of course the man did teach him how to do it 'the Wizard way' as he called it, so by the end of August Harry was at the end of Second Year in Potions. He would have thought to be at Third, but Regulus told him that Gereon did not teach him any Potions that required wand movements, so several potions had been scrapped. Come to think of it, Harry had never seen Gereon with a wand, or use magic at all. Was he a Squib?

That brought up another curious thought. Although Harry knew much about Regulus, Gereon, or Vico as the man kept telling him, remained a mystery. He would be absent for long periods of time, only showing up out of no where and without warning. He was cheerful, but Harry noticed how easily he deflected personal questions, or how he let his smiling face fall when he thought no one was looking, replacing the cheerful gaze with a look of utter exhaustion and sadness. He had asked Regulus about it, but all he got was a mumbling that went along the lines of nightmares and insomnia. Still, no matter how curious Harry was, he knew that pressing the man for answers would go no where, so he kept his questions to himself.

Harry wasn't learning all the time, though. He had hours to explore the large Estate and look at several collections of artworks, weaponry, and books. He went outside to the fields where Pegasi, Unicorns, regular horses, ponies, and horse-sized lizard-like beasts called Egyptian Dune Runners populated the grassy areas. From the small history about the Gereons that he managed to wheedle out of Gereon and Regulus was that the family had been well known for their raising and protection of horses and horse-like creatures. The Estate had always been a haven for the creatures, and it wasn't uncommon for Harry to come outside and find an abused horse or injured Pegasus that he hadn't seen before that would soon be patched up and trotting along the other herds in no time. Regulus had told him that he should be glad that it was only just horses now- apparently Gereon had once brought home a Brazilian Feather Spine hatchling- a smaller species of dragon that lived in the Amazon and ate all sorts of small creatures- and it had found Regulus' fingers and toes to be quite delicious looking after it escaped the room Gereon had been keeping it in and somehow found itself in Regulus' bathroom.

When not helping with the horses or horse-creatures, Harry was down on the beach. The weather and water were quite pleasant most of the days he was there, although the occasional storm did blow over. He did what most other children did- collect shells, pretty rocks, feathers, and other interesting trinkets, feeling more like the child he should be than he ever had been before. Sometimes Hedwig would follow him outside, glide over the sand to pick up a pebble or interesting piece of driftwood to bring back to him to examine.

However, the light, happy days were not meant to last forever. He had serious talks with Gereon and Regulus as the three of them tried to figure out the best course of action to keep Harry out of a situation similar to that of the Dursleys. The process of finding a new guardian and the paperwork required would take months, if not a year to complete, but Harry did not have that time to wait and be thrown into temporary custody of another Magic-hating family. Gereon had found a law to provide him with a guardian in the Wizengamot- and after some talk and description of who was on the Wizengamot, they settled that Madam Bones would be his temporary guardian until a permanent one was found.

Alas, the days of seeing the rolling waves, the herds in the fields, reading through mountains of books and Wizarding etiquette were over and Harry James Potter had bid farewell to Regulus and took hold of the Port Key that sent him in an alley outside Kings Cross Station. Gereon had been carried off to bed earlier that morning when the pair of them found him sleeping at the kitchen table, head propped up on an open book written in ancient Latin and so he hadn't been there to wave Harry off. He didn't mind- the man needed all the sleep he could get.

Hauling his trunk and Hedwig's cage (he let her out the moment he reached the alley, not wanting her to suffer through the bustling of a long boring train ride in a cage), Harry went through the train station and onto Platform 9 3/4 without a hitch. He arrived purposely early so that he wouldn't be swamped with sudden attention. The train was already there, as were a few students and their families. Harry went passed them all and onto the train, selecting a seat in the very last car of the train. He stowed away the owl cage and opened his trunk to pull out a book on Potions for the upcoming school year. He, Regulus, and Gereon went shopping in the Wziarding District called Djinn's Market in Istanbul, where they got all the appropriate schoolbooks and robes needed for Hogwarts- as well as other 'more important' books that were either illegal or borderline Dark according to England's standards. Not that he cared.

His train of thought was derailed when instead of touching cool leather, his fingertips met warm soft fur. Harry stifled a startled yelp, pulling his hand out of his trunk, wincing as he slapped the top of his fingers against the wood in his haste. Not a moment later a feline-like face poked its head out of the shadows of the trunk, blinking sleepy gray eyes. "Umbra! You're not supposed to be here!"

The genet gazed at Harry for a moment before slinking out of the trunk, stretching before making itself comfortable on the nearby seat.

Harry let out a huff. True to genet ways, he had only seen the creature in the evening or late at night every once in awhile. He would either find it on his bed or it would find him in the library, nose stuck in a book. It was good company, something to talk to that couldn't give its opinion on a subject nor share his secrets with anyone. Still, Gereon and Regulus might miss it, but it was too late to go back and return the stowaway. He would have to Owl one of them when he got to Hogwarts.

Finally pulling out the book he wanted, Harry put his trunk away and took the seat beside Umbra. The genet got up only to plop down in Harry's lap- a familiar cushion- and promptly fell back to sleep again while the boy read.

Harry's quiet time ended about twenty minutes later when the station was filled to the brim with shouting parents and laughing students, but it wasn't the noises outside that disturbed him. It was the sliding of the door to his quiet seclusion and two identical red heads came marching in, pushing an equally red haired girl and a bright blond girl, both shorter than the taller and older Fred and George.

"Harry!" both of them exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "How was your kidnapping?"

"Quite relaxing, if I did say so myself," Harry replied, hiding a smirk. "It was nice to sit back and watch everyone scramble. Who are your friends here?" he turned his attention to the two girls that the twins had dragged in. Both were First Years, the blond girl almost spirit-like with her pale skin and bright eyes that seem to gaze through people and see things no one else could. The other was most definitely a Weasley- the red hair and freckles gave it away.

"This is Luna Lovegood-"

"-And ittie bittie sis Ginny!"

Ginny smacked George in the gut wit the back of her hand, an irritated scowl crossing her face."Twat, I can introduce myself."

The offending twin tutted at his sister's language while Luna sat down beside Harry.

"Hello Harry Potter," she said, her voice just as whimsical as she looked. "And hello, Ancient One," she added, her thin fingers smoothing the fur on the back of the genet. A gray eye cracked open to look at her for a moment before closing it again, deciding that napping was more important.

As the others sat down and the train left the station, Harry learned many things of the two girls that the twins brought into their compartment. Ginny was the youngest and only girl of the Weasleys, and much to the glee of the twins and the horror of Mrs. Weasley, Ginny was more like her brothers than she ever would be a girl. Sure she was shy and quiet at first, but once she warmed up she had an insulting tongue that would put anyone to shame. She held herself as a boy too, her shoulders slightly slouched and her feet propped up on the seat across from her, much like the twins would do. Apparently in a last ditch attempt to convert Ginny into a lady, Mrs. Weasley had often let Ginny go to Luna's house, which they happened to be neighbors, hoping that having a girl as a friend and away from her many brothers would help her be more feminine.

Of course no one had the heart to tell poor Mrs. Weasley that Luna and Ginny would go down into town to raid the dumpsters for strange creatures and Muggle items to smuggle back into the garage for Mr. Weasley to tinker with or bring rhubarb leaves and wilted leeks to Mr. Lovegood to do...whatever Lovegoods do.

Luna was more lady-like in poise, but she had a far off look to her that many would lable her as 'loopy'. However, her mentions of Nargles and Wackspurts seem to have hidden meanings behind them, and she seemed to know things before anyone else did- even if her way of telling people was strange. Both Harry and the twins felt that she must have some sort of Seer ability the way she expertly avoided the worst tasting Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans that Harry bought for the entire compartment.

Neville had slipped into to join them about an hour after the train left the station, and Harry was content. He felt that both Luna and Ginny would fit quite well into his small circle of friends and he was happy to add them to his slowly growing list of people he could trust. That list included Neville, Fred, George, Regulus, Gereon, and now Ginny and Luna. It wasn't much, but to Harry, it was more than he had before- and maybe more than he deserved. They all had their quirks and secrets perhaps, but none of them saw him for the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Figure-Out-How-To-Die-Properly but just Harry, and that was all Harry cared about.

With the sky dark and the train stopped, the small group of friends left the confines of the train and out into the warm late summer air. Here the group broke off, with Luna and Ginny going off towards where Hagrid waited for the First Years and the rest followed Fred and George while expertly avoiding Ron and Hermione and into a carriage drawn by invisible horses. Threstrals, Harry's mind supplied, remembering one of the conversations he had with Hagrid.

With Umbra draped across his shoulders and twins at his sides, the Gryffindors seated themselves at the table. Many of the other students kept coming over to badger Harry, asking him where he had been over the summer and they were so glad he was safe. The letter Gereon had sent Madam Bones had gone through, and the Wizengamot meeting that went several days later confirming her role as temporary guardian as well as a mention of the letter had been broadcasted all over the Daily Prophet. He knew it was to calm down the ruffled feathered of irritated Witches and Wizards of the country. At least no one in this school besides him know the letter correspondence with Madam Bones' examination of his Gringotts records had dug up more than anyone had realized. They wouldn't find out- not just yet- but Harry sent a small glare over to Dumbledore's direction before focusing on the Sorting. Oh, everyone will find out soon enough.

The Sorting went smoothy. Gryffindor received fourteen new students, including Ginny who plopped down beside Neville who sat across from Harry. Hufflepuff received eleven, Slytherin got the oh-so lucky number thirteen new students, and Ravenclaw got twelve, of which one was Luna.

The feast went underway shortly afterwards and everyone dug in happily. Harry forced himself not to look at the Head Table, not wanting to see Dumbledore. He'd probably try to hex him if he did. It was bad enough listening to the Headmaster speak about the usual things banned from school, not going into the Forbidden Forest, and -oh, hey!- a new Defense Professor who looked like he spent more time with a brush in his hand than a wand. He remembered Regulus snorting and not bother buying the dozen books or so that where on the book list and opted to spend the money on several Dark books instead. What was his name again? Goldilocks? Hell, Harry didn't remember nor cared. He planned on skipping that class after the first day anyway, after what Regulus told him of the man. A whiny pathetic fake, or something along those lines. He was sure there were more curses in that description, but he was too full and tired to care.

Harry had been cornered by Ron in the dorms. He had managed to avoid Hermione- or that Hermione had been reluctant to approach him. He would think about that later. For now he brushed aside Ron's demands to tell him where he had been and said he was extremely tired and charmed the curtains on his bed shut and silenced.

"It's going to be a busy year, isn't it?" Harry asked, running his fingers through Umbra's fur as the genet sniffed around the bed. Hopefully there will be no Voldemort breathing down his neck this year- he had enough on his plate, thank you very much.

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**Notes:**

**I finally got around to this chapter! Yay! Sorry for the wait, I'll try to speed things up a bit. **

**Harry's summer went rather well, it seems. No chores, a few blown up toasters, nothing like the good ol' Dursleys. **

**Also Regulus cannot cook to save his life. Putting a cauldron in front of him would cause the world to end. **

**I made things up! Isn't it exciting?  
**

**You know when you read back on something you read as a child and you remember something you thought about the book then that's hilarious now? I had one of those reading the second HP book. When Tom Riddle showed up in the diary. I mean, back then the only Tom I knew was the bartender for the Leaky Cauldron, so naturally I thought 'Oh shit! Tom in the LC is the same as this Tom!' **

**Imagine that Tom being the Dark Lord? I mean, perfect alibi. Perfect spying opportunity...**

**I was quite a silly child back then. **

**(This chapter was posted on April 24, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Cornering a Dungeon Bat**


	16. Cornering a Dungeon Bat

**Warnings: Some language, nothing serious. Oocness maybe? Perhaps also choppily written.  
**

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Chapter 16- Cornering a Dungeon Bat

The first week of school went by and Snape was in just a right mood. He was irritated that not one, not three, but five First Years managed to blow up their cauldrons during their first Potions class. On top of that Longbottom managed to melt his cauldron and had to be sent to the Infirmary, two Sixth Year Slytherins were caught hexing a Third Year Gryffindor by McGonigal no less, and Dumbledore was breathing down his neck, subtly nudging him to cough up any information on his old Potions Master. Also he didn't get the Defense position- again- and Dumbledore got the most useless pathetic moron to fill in the position. That idiot couldn't find his way out of a doorway even if he was standing in front of it.

Snape was also feeling guilty- not that he needed more of that! He felt rightly scolded by Gereon for not helping Potter sooner, and the man hadn't spoken to him during the majority of the remaining summer until the end of August, of which the man acted like nothing had happened between them about Potter- Snape was at least grateful for that. He was a bit lenient to Potter in class, choosing to simply ignore him unless something drastic happened to his potion- which on that topic he did very well making the Bruise Salve the Second Years were instructed to make. If he hadn't, Snape wouldn't had believed that the boy had spent over a month with Gereon. No one stayed with Gereon without learning something.

The Potions Master was also feeling cautiously optimistic. His Lord was back- although he had changed quite drastically. He had removed Snape's Mark, as well as Lucius' and several others who managed to escape Azkaban, and was planning on taking the Slytherin Seat in the Wizengamot in the following week. Things were going to get shaken up quite a bit once his Lord got into the government. He hadn't bothered bringing it up to Dumbledore- the man can figure it out himself, the annoying old man.

Lastly, Snape was pretty damn sure something or someone was watching him constantly ever since the term started. He checked every ward on his rooms and every spell he knew to uncover what he was sensing, but he couldn't detect anything at all. Nothing was unusual or out of the norm apart from some tiny yellow fluff ball of a bird that kept showing up during the morning with the Owls, to which it zoomed around the room for a good two laps before disappearing back the way it came out or out the Main Entrance where it would perch on the hourglasses holding the House Points. It didn't bother anyone, it didn't try to steal any food; it would just fly around and leave or hang out on the hourglasses for awhile before it would disappear sometime before lunch.

Speaking of strange creatures, Potter seemed to have picked some rather too-close-for-comfort familiar looking genet. Snape didn't know if Potter knew what exactly Umbra was, but he wasn't going to break the news to him. After all, he did promise not to tell anyone unless it was a life-or-death situation, and this certainly wasn't. That creature did show up in his office or private quarters every other day, although it didn't do much apart from sniffing around or listen to Snape rant and rave about illiterate brats and bothersome Headmasters.

Overall, the week had been filled with one cranky Dungeon Bat that was hellbent on pissing everyone off by dishing out Point losses and detentions like he was getting paid a Galleon for every Point removed and six for every detention ordered.

The flesh on the back of Snape's neck crawled, like cold fingertips creeping up. The invisible eyes were watching him again. It was almost midnight and he was on patrol for students breaking curfew. Snape mentally groaned as he stepped onto the staircase heading up the steps towards the Seventh Floor. The crawling feeling did not last long, only until after he stepped onto the landing before the staircase churned away. He paused, standing still, tense and quiet, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. The only sounds he heard were the echoing of the moving staircase and soft snoring of portraits. No footsteps, no extra breathing, no nothing.

Snape's shoulders slumped slightly as he gave himself a few seconds of reprieve before he straightened up and continued on his patrol.

It was near the Astronomy Tower when Snape's peace and quiet was shattered by a skull-splitting jolt that ran straight though his head. The force disoriented the man, having to lean against the cool stone wall for support to regain his bearings. That had to be his wards on his private quarters, but they didn't ring like they would have if someone had crossed then without his consent or a quiet snap if they had been disabled.

No, the wards had been utterly obliterated by sheer force.

Cloak billowing, Snape made his way back towards his quarters in haste, wand already gripped tightly in his hand. He was in luck as he failed to run into anyone or anything along the way, and the staircases didn't give him any trouble either. He slowed down when he reached his room, only so he wouldn't round into the doorway and get blasted by a curse or hex.

Wand at the ready, the Potions Master approached the open door to his quarters, examining the doorway before snapping right into the entrance way, wand pointed inward.

There was no one there.

Cautiously Snape stepped further into the sitting room, the fire crackling in the hearth. The room looked the same way as he left it earlier that evening. The others doors to the kitchen and his bedroom were closed and untouched, but the door to his private office was ajar- someone had been in there.

The office was a mess. Someone had gone straight to the bookshelf that was on the far wall and had tossed everything off of it. The essays on his desk were all over the floor, and desk drawers were open, their contents also in disarray. The top of the desk itself was what made Snape pale. The center-most part of the desk had been slid out, exposing the secret compartment that laid underneath. He kept most of his more secretive research in that compartment.

Approaching the desk, Snape sorted through the now unorganized mess that was his years of research. He kept them in alphabetical order by topic, and that was the one thing that his ward smasher didn't mess up. It was easy to figure out what was missing, and that made Snape slump down into the nearest chair.

The next morning presented an exhausted Potions Master at breakfast, nursing a cup of coffee. He had spent the rest of the night going through the mess in his office by hand, one by one, just to see if anything else had been missing. The only thing missing had been..._ that_.

Luckily it was Saturday, so after choking down a cup of coffee and some toast the Potions Master was back down into his now cleaned office, where he recreated and placed the wards and buried himself in grading Fifth Year Potions essays without being bothered by noisy coworkers or bothersome brats. He was in the middle of one particularly horrendous one when a familiar Muggle notebook with yellowing pages and crinkled corners was gently slid in front of him over the essay.

Snape stiffened. He would have jumped up and hexed away, if he had been able to move. He had been charmed stuck to his chair, without him realizing it. What the fuck was wrong with him?! He spent years as a spy and then someone managed to break through his wards and spell him without him even noticing!

Dark eyes snapped upward to glare into bright violet.

"Please explain to me," the young looking man said quite softly, a slight French accent curling his words like the long curl that stuck out of his head under a fluffy yellow bird that nested amongst the strands; pale fingers tapped gently against the dark blue cover of the notebook with the words '_Master Lodovico Gereon' _written across it in a slight obnoxious slant. "What a 'Miracle Man' is."

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**Notes:**

**Cliffhanger! Don't worry, questions may or may not be answered. **

**Also guess who it is! Who? Exactly! And Gilbird may have had a cameo.  
**

**Sorry if this chapter's a bit choppy. It just is. Sorry. **

**I'll try to post more often, as school will be letting out soon and I can get some ideas during work. Well, I have ideas and plans and goals, but I had a problem of organizing it in a coherent manner. That's why these last couple of chapters have taken forever. Too many ideas and not enough words in between. **

**Please tell me if there anyone you really really REALLY want to see in this story. I will try to drag them in.**

** THANK YOU FOR THE FOLLOWS/FAVES/REVIEWS. YOU GUYS ARE BOSS AND AWESOME. PLEASE CONTINUE TO STALK/COMMENT.**

**(This chapter was posted on May 2, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Who? Reporting In**


	17. Who? Reporting In

**Warnings: Some explanations? Not enough but some, perhaps?  
**

******Also I apologize if my chapters are short/crummy as of late. I've hit a writing pothole and I'm trying to get myself back into the swing of things. **

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Chapter 17-Who? Reporting In

"Ah, you're back. Take a seat."

The violet-eyed country settled down in one of the soft armchairs near a crackling fire, watching the other nation settle down in the chair opposite. He kindly refused the offer of tea, water, coffee, and Fire Whiskey, his fellow nation taking a tea and Whiskey mix (mostly alcohol, because he was going to need it) and after a moment of silence between the two, the dark blond nation opened is mouth once more.

"The deeper we dig into this, the more concerned I get." He let out a small sigh, reaching up to set the sleeping yellow bird nesting in his hair. "I followed Snape as you told me to, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. I think he knew something was following him but couldn't figure out what. Yet as no progress was made... I... had to speed things up. I broke into his office and searched the place. In his desk was a hidden compartment where he kept a whole lot of research papers, some I know for sure would be labeled 'Dark and Highly Dangerous'."

"You did what had to be done," the other nation consoled the soft spoken Canadian. "But there must have been something amongst the papers if you bothered to mention it."

Canada nodded. "One was a Muggle notebook, dated back to when Snape would have been about fourteen or fifteen, about Gereon. Apparently the man had taken Snape in at this time for his apprenticeship and he thought that Gereon wasn't human so he went to subtly studying the man. He eventually found his answer about four months into his tutelage. Lodvico Gereon is what's called a 'Miracle Man', or the man said so himself."

A incredulous look crossed the other nation's face. "A what?"

"That's what I asked Snape," Canada murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I had to approach him. I figured finding out exactly from the source than finding wrong or spotty information from other places, and there was nothing on the topic in the Library... I'm sorry for breaking that rule."

"It's fine," the man waved a hand as if to brush away the apology from the air, taking a sip of his spiked tea. "We were bound to end up taking directly to him eventually. Continue on."

The violet eyed man rubbed his fingers together in a nervous tick. "By Snape's definition, which was the definition Gereon told him, a Miracle Man is a different branch of Magic User, outside of Wizards and Witches. They possess an extreme knowledge of the body, which leads to the description of 'Being of Magic through Self', while Witches and Wizards are labeled as 'Beings of Magic through Core' or 'Will'. They have an aptitude of healing that cannot be surpassed by Healers- their ability to heal with just a single touch had lead to the Muggles of ancient times labeling them as 'Miracle Men'. Their magic is entirely focused around their body or using their Magic in another's. In older tales they were described as Shape Shifters, or Doppelgangers, which in today's language would label them being Metamorphmaguses natural Animaguses. However, they cannot use Magic like us Wizards can. They cannot hex people, use charms, ward, shield, or anything like that. Snape told me that Gereon used to say that 'We learned how to duck, unlike you Wand-Wielders'. Their Magic, it seems, only works on themselves or touching the body of another. I have a feeling there is more but Snape managed to unstuck himself and almost took my head off with a _Bombarda_. I was surprised he even let out this much information."

Silence befell the pair, the fire crackling nosily in the hearth. Then the other nation let a huff of a chuckle before taking a heavy drink from his tea. "So Gereon's not a Wizard but not a Muggle. An in-between. Makes sense though, how we can't even find a scrap of information on the bloke anywhere. We've been assuming that he is a Wizard, but it is highly probable that he is using his Metamorphmageus abilities in order to create multiple aliases in order to keep his true self out of the records. It also explains how the Blacks were one of the few families with an uncanny ability to easily become Animaguses as well as having a Metamorphmageus in their genes. They married into it." He lowered his cup into its saucer. "Still, it does not explain who Gereon is exactly, only what. The others of his kind must do something similar, or go under a different name nowadays, as I've never even heard of such a thing before. Secrets and mystery must run in their blood the way everyone related to this man has their lips sealed..." He thought for a moment, before shrugging and taking another sip. "Ah well, not our problem. Gereon's not causing any bodily harm to anyone, and people like that trip on their own feet eventually. I say we sit back and watch things take their course, before we find ourselves in a very precarious situation because we stuck our noses into the wrong person's business forcibly."

A small frown crossed Canada's face as the man drained his cup and stood up to leave for the kitchen. "But, shouldn't we tell England?"

Green-yellow eyes under fiery strands of hair glinted mischievously at the Canadian. "Tell England? Nah. He's being driven up the wall and it's hilarious. Why ruin the fun so soon? Besides, I want to see how many gray hairs he sprouts on those caterpillar eyebrows first. I'd bet twenty-three and Wales said fifteen and Ireland's betting for bald spots. Sickles are on the line here, and I'm not going to spoil my chances by telling him!"

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**Notes: **

**Canada's spoils of his spying expedition. Results may vary. **

**And of course England will never find anything out. It's hilarious watching him squirm. **

**So we finally get around to kind of figuring out what Gereon is. Yay! You didn't think he was normal, did you? Nothing's that simple, not around nations and Snape. **

**Also thank you for all the follows/faves/reviews! I think I've hit my personal record for all three categories for any of my short stories! You don't know how much it makes me go "Yay! People love me!" Don't worry, I love you too guys. Please keep on doing what you've been doing! Any ideas, thoughts, comments are welcomed always.  
**

** I also found it quite humorous that everyone's happy that Canada's there. I mean, he's perfect for recon missions! No one notices him, not even magic. Creeping Snape out's always the best past time.  
**

**(This chapter was posted on May 5, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: All Their Hard Work is A-Crumblin'**


	18. All Their Hard Work is A-Crumblin'

**Warnings: Language, OOC characters? **

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Chapter 18-All Their Hard Work is A-Crumblin'

"...Are they seriously called that? That's horribly tacky."

"Well, when you let Muggles name things, it's going to be hideously tacky. Like, I gave Cissy the slip the other day and explored of them Mall thingies and there's aisles of makeup products with such atrocious names! Who in Merlin's name's going to put on 'Bing My Cherry'? Such coarse language for something women are putting on their faces! It's demeaning!"

"And here I am wondering why you were looking at makeup of all things, Abraxas."

The two men standing in the living room turned to the doorway, crimson and azurite eyes meeting the glittering stormy blue gaze of Narcissa Malfoy as she studied the two.

Marvolo had cleaned himself up rather well in the months after his resurrection. No longer was he the insane bloodthirsty tyrant who looked more serpentine than a man. Now he looked a mixture between what he had appeared during his younger years and a Malfoy- his tall thin body with long nimble fingers inherited from the Gaunt line while his more regal features, sharper cheekbones and straighter dark brown hair streaked with the pale blond-white most noticeable in the Malfoy tree that was shoulder length and almost always tied back. He fitted very well in the emerald green, silver, and black silken robes, but he would make even the cheapest of cotton look fit for a king if donned on his shoulders, in so the silk made him more so regally divine. Although Marvolo's eyes were still retained their crimson hue, he used a Parselspell to glamor them an azure that the Malfoys possessed during the days where he was meeting those who weren't the loop of things. Well, tried to. Apparently his Blood Adoption and the glamor worked rather wonky with each other, and instead made his eyes a deep amethyst. That had sent Abraxas into another fit of giggles, calling Marvolo a pretty poppet, which proceeded into a five hour long Stinging Hex match.

Speaking of Abraxas, the man stood at the same height as Marvolo- an impressive 6'7''. Yet, standing beside the once Lord Voldemort, Abraxas looked much bigger and menacing than the thin and regal Marvolo. It may be the fact that he had four times the shoulder width compared to the past Dark Lord, or that his arms could crush the much leaner man into a ball and not break into a sweat. In fact, Abraxas was almost completely opposite physique wise to Marvolo. Not that he wasn't ugly or anything- the older Malfoy had the trademark white-blond hair and the cheekbones, but it was the fact that he was more handsome in a rugged masculine way than that of a regal Lord of an Ancient and Noble house that made him look so out of place amongst the fragile heirlooms and delicate crystal chandeliers. Even his clothes looked out of place in the room, ditching the robes in favor of silken slacks and shirt with a long trailing overcoat in the Malfoy colors of storm grey, forest green, and a curious silvery gold. It was a struggle just to get the man to wear that- the man had long since taken a liking to Muggle clothing or a variety of leathers or hides, none of which were very appropriate for meeting with other Purebloods.

Abraxas let out a cough under Narcissa's dark smirk. "Well, you see, I had to go through that section in order to get the discounted jeans..."

"You're rich. You don't need to be so frugal, especially on Muggle clothing," Narcissa shook her head, the argument cropping up too often to be seriously taken. "While you to Lords were busy gossiping like old ladies, the rest of us lowly peasants were just about ready to leave for the Ministry. Please put your knitting away and join us in the Floo Room." The darker blonde woman managed to slip out of the room before Marvolo had the time to recover and hex her.

"Damn woman, knowing how to punch low and scurry out before retaliation," Marvolo hissed under his breath, shoving his wand back into its holster before folding his arms, sulking. Abraxas laughed, slapping a hand on his old friend's back, almost knocking the man over.

"No need for that long face! Save it up until you leave the courtroom so you have even more irritation crawling under your skin to boost your hex! Besides, no need to pick a fight with a woman. You'll always lose."

Marvolo shot the azurite eyed man a dark look. "Says the man who woke me up at one in the morning on the Monday of the start of the OWLS saying you wanted to wrestle the Basilisk down in the Chamber."

"The strength of body aids the strength of mind and therefore aids the strength of Magic," Abraxas said sagely, nodding his head as if in agreement with his own words. "And I was anxious and needed some release from the tension. Nothing's better than a small tumble with a beast of impressive size."

"Sometimes I wonder how you're related to any of the other Malfoys," Marvolo said dryly, narrowing his eyes at the man as they walked down the hallway towards the Floo Room. "They're all proper Lords and Ladies of Pureblood lines, and then there's you, who goes off skipping Court Sessions to break into a dragon reserve every other weekend so you could fight a dragon head-on without magic just to see if you could."

"There's always a black sheep in every family," Abraxas grinned. "And it's not my fault all you Lordlings are stuffy and boring."

The two continued their bickering all the way to the Floo Room, where Lucius and Narcissa waited for them, as well as some of the other Dark Supporters and hidden previous Death Eaters for an impromptu meeting. Once the argument ended, Marvolo turned to his once Marked and grinned evilly. "Let's fuck some shit up."

And fuck shit up they did.

The first Wizengamot session of the quarter had not been expecting a new Lord to claim his seat. One Lord Marvolo Arviragaus Malfoy-Riddle-Gaunt, now shortened to Lord Slytherin, up-took the votes and seats for both the Gaunt and Slytherin line, and no matter how much others protested, Magic granted him the seats, and there was no take-backs. Dumbledore looked like he swallowed a fistful of especially sour Lemon Drops, and looked as if he was going to choke on some more when Marvolo was granted permission to speak his mind to the court, since so many on the Light Side seemed unnerved that a true Slytherin was amongst them that they naturally wanted to know everything about him and his business for his sudden appearance. So he explained his fabricated tale of one Thomas Ridde and the Malfoy illness-made Squib and his study into the Dark Lord and the Marks. He didn't mention that Tom Riddle was actually Lord Voldemort, only that there was a connection between the two that he had exploited. Dumbledore's twinkling eyes weren't sparkling much after that, much to Marvolo's glee. Many looked like they were about to explode when he mentioned how the Marks were influencing the Bearers, not wanting to believe that their so-called justice may not have been as clear cut as they thought.

Did he mention that he also spoke of Sirius Black's lack of trial? Oh, was that a sore spot. Lady Bones seemed eager to storm straight to Azkaban and put Black on trial immediately. Minister Fudge wasn't as keen, actually appearing rather miffed that someone even dared to assume that the oh-so good Ministry made a severe injustice such as stuffing a Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble House into a jail cell surrounded by Dementors for over a decade. A vote was passed to put Black on trial at the next Wizengamot meeting on the last day of September, much to Dumbledore's chagrin, while the other Death Eaters will be retried on a later date after Marvolo removed the Marks from them and hoped that would remove any lasting harmful spells effecting their memories or their personalities. The Light Supporters were all in a tizzy- and he hadn't even mentioned his plans on 'Half Breeds' and 'Dark Creatures' yet!

Lady Bones also seemed to ruffle the feathers of the Light Supporters even more so as she stood to explain that she now had temporary custody of the Boy-Who-Just-Couldn't-Die-Properly due to some old regulation that everyone else seemed to have forgotten but Gereon, who Lady Bones said took the Potter Heir from the Dursleys and kept him safe until the start of Hogwarts. He was also the one who reported the abuse in the first place, so the thirst to bloodily execute the man who kidnapped Potter died almost completely after Bones' explanation of the whole situation. It was a good transition from Death Eaters to the Boy-Who-Lived, at least it gave the members of the Wizengamot something else to fret over other than convicted criminals and worrying if the Dark were going to end up swamping their Wizengamot seats. She kept Gereon's name out of the spotlight mostly, only his last name mentioned so no one could try to track him down. She was obligated to tell who sent in the note- the only reason why the name cropped up to begin with. Marvolo spotted Dumbledore listening more intently at the mention of Gereon, until when pressed for more information and none was relented, he was rather put out. Several others around the room also sported curious looks of this unknown person and Marvolo knew that they were going to go home to do research. It seemed that Gereon had more than one person getting all up in his business.

Someone on the Neutral Side asked that why didn't the Malfoys take Potter in after it was mentioned the reasons why Gereon could not take in Potter himself (which most of the Wizengamot agreed- the Boy-Who-Lived shouldn't live outside of Britain, oh no). The Malfoys were technically related to them through the Potter's Black grandmother, and although Bones said that the Potter Heir had all right to help make the decision of his permanent guardian, Marvolo couldn't help but notice the slight thoughtful look on Lucius' face or the widely eager grin on Abraxas'. Really, the pseudo-giant had such a mushy heart, he would take in all of Hogwarts under his wing if he could. No wonder Lucius' son was a slight snot.

Sometimes he wondered how Abraxas managed to wiggle into his own heart with his less-than Pureblood actions. Must be the Gryffindorish lack of fear and common sense to run away when a fifty foot beast is trying to eat you. Or something.

Lady Bones also mentioned that she was looking into the late Potters' wills as well as the Potter Heir's Magical Guardian- as it seems that they did a shit-tastic job of it. Dumbledore was beginning to appear increasingly uneasy- it almost made Marvolo break his cold Lord mask just so he could grin viciously at the squirming Headmaster. It seemed someone knew exactly who was the Magical Guardian, and they were going to be pinned in a very tight corner. If Marvolo knew of Bones was true, she most likely had already dug up all the dirt before presenting it to the Wizengamot. There was no hiding these things under rugs anymore. Marvolo couldn't wait to see how Dumbledore was going to get out of this one.

At the end of the day, many Light Supporters looked worn and weary, the Dark doing a damn good job at hiding their glee, and the Neutrals displaying a mixture of both, depending on which side they leaned more towards. After all, everything they thought was sound fact wasn't so sturdy anymore- not with Death Eaters possibly being forced into their murderous ways, the Potter boy not being the spoiled glorified hero that everyone thought he was, and that a line most thought to be extinct had returned with full force. All of Dumbledore's and the Light Supporters' hard work to build up a wall of false Light and goodness was a-crumblin', and Marvolo was more than happy to witness it fall. And they haven't seen seen Marvolo's grouchy sailor side either, which was a complete pity because some of those morons really needed a good cursing at.

The less they knew about him outside of fabricated lie, the better, he supposed, as he, Lucius, and Abraxas returned to the Malfoy Manor. Just like how the less he knew about why Abraxas was looking in the makeup aisle of a Muggle store, the better his newly patched mind and soul were. He didn't need it to be scarred so soon after having it fixed.

* * *

**Notes:**

**So I got Abraxas into the story. For some reason I find him to be a very interesting character no matter which fanfiction he's in (too few in my opinion). For some ungodly reason I can just see him doing all these things... I really don't know what my brain's doing, but I hope you guys liked it as much as I did thinking about it.**

**Also, Bing My Cherry is an actual name for a makeup thing. I will never understand. It's all shit to me.**

**Abraxas and Marvolo interactions are always fun to write. Marvolo gets pissed and Abraxas laughs and then they have a duke out. It's a pretty great, healthy relationship if you ask me. **

**Still, I'm pretty sure Abraxas was dropped on his head when he was a child. Or he's related to Hagrid. Really, he's nothing like any of the other Malfoys at all. **

**And the reviews! ;D Yes it was Scotland in the last chapter. He's being his usual big brotherly arsehole self. I may have also borrowed 'kinda tacky' and had it sort of extend into this chapter. It seemed too hilarious not to use.  
**

**Also, the great mystery as to why Abraxas was in the Makeup Aisle. I think that's one mystery that's going to die where it is...**

**(This chapter was posted on May 6, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Countries in Diagon  
**


	19. Countries in Diagon

**Warnings: REALLY LONG, language, some random descriptions and explanations, OCs, OOCness, PDA, people getting completely wasted, and other things. **

**Nothing in detail, but just warning you in case you're easily startled or something.**

**Also this chapter's hot off the press. Any errors you find please let me know so I can fix them. Thank you.**

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Chapter 19- Countries in Diagon

The warm September sun gleamed down over the sharp corners and edges of the buildings in Diagon Alley, the long shadows cast the only hint that days were getting shorter. It was at the brick entrance that lead to The Leaky Cauldron where one fiery haired Scot stood waiting, chewing on the end of the cigarette in his mouth.

"They are late, aren't they?"

Scotland turned his green-yellow gaze up to the large Russian that came to stand beside him, that stupid innocent smile playing on the more massive man's lips. Scotland grudgingly respected the other country for his magical prowess, but that didn't mean he had to like him. He did not fear him, no, he just couldn't tolerate Russia and his child-like smiles while his words could freeze lava in a second. He was dangerously unpredictable- a combination that Scotland did not like at all.

But the Russian was right- they were late. The small group of Wizarding countries had a small get together that wasn't a meeting at odd times during the year in one of the nation's Wizarding areas. The last time had been in early June where they all went over to China's Magical sector in Beijing, where England got jumped, Prussia and Romania got into trouble for trying to smuggle a variety of Magical fireworks back to their own countries (the fireworks were illegal in most countries outside of Asia), Netherlands was two seconds away from a brawl with an extremely annoying man who tried to jib him out of his money, and South Italy got violently ill off of something he had eaten along the way and spent the following week sick as a dog. The only person who didn't go that time had been Russia, to China's relief.

This time around there were two missing out of the ten- South Italy and China, with the Italian saying he had seen enough of England to last a lifetime and China had to pull out at the last minute because some Wizard had the bright idea of trying to raise a Qilin in their house and it broke loose into the Muggle streets, creating a small crisis of which required a lot of Obliviating and a mountain's worth of paperwork.

At the moment everyone but two were present- or rather, in the area. England went to Gringotts about an hour ago and hadn't returned, and Scotland was sure Norway and Romania were in Knockturn probably trying to bribe some poor soul out of their wares for dirt cheap. Egypt had most likely gone to Flourish and Blots, where he would remain until someone dragged him out, and Scotland could see Netherlands looking into a window, obviously trying to discern where he could get the best deal judging by the slight wrinkle of his brows just above his nose that he always did when running numbers through his head. That left Prussia and Canada, which was unusual. Usually Canada was good at keeping Prussia on a short leash and having him show up on time. Which made Scotland wonder- what was keeping them?

His inner question was answered when the brick wall opened beside them and Russia let out a soft chuckle. That sound alone made Scotland look towards the source of the larger man's amusement- after all, a Russian laughing usually wasn't good news.

There, in between a triumphant grinning Prussia and an apologetic Canada, was a familiar charcoal haired Vatican City. His arms were pinned under one of the countries on each side own arms, keeping him from running and hiding. The man looked like he couldn't decide whether to flee or examine the colorful and noisy street that the two countries had dragged him into, his short, quick breathing signaling that he was getting pushed far out of his comfort zone and was on the verge of panicking.

"England's going to flip," Scotland told the duo and their unexpected guest as they approached him, erecting a Privacy Ward around them to keep unwanted ears from listening in with a flick of his wrist to summon his wand in hand.

"Ain't stopped you before," Prussia retorted, still grinning like a maniac. "Besides, once word got out that our little Vati here knew our dirty little secret, we couldn't just leave him all alone at home, could we, Birdie?"

Canada sighed as he gently helped Vatican to get his footing before letting go of his arm. "Italy brought Vatican with him when he went to Germany's place," the soft spoken country explained. "With Germany and Italy out of the house and us leaving, Vatican would have been alone at the house and Prus didn't want him to feel left out."

"So instead of leaving him at you and your brother's home where he knew where he was, you dragged him all the way to a Magical Alley that he's never seen before where you will proceed to go off to do your own thing and lose track of him?" Scotland snorted, pulling the paper wrapped tobacco out of his mouth. "I got no problem with him being here, he just needs someone to be with him since I know you two will be preoccupied." He shot them a knowing look, causing Canada to duck his head to hide a blush and Prussia barked out his uniquely annoying laugh. Vatican just looked out of place, shifting from foot to foot in anxiety, his eyes darting about, trying to take everything in- or find a quick escape. Scotland wasn't sure. He was suspecting that the man either feared crowds, the unknown, or both, and if they left him to his own devices he would have more of a panic attack than what he was having already. Idiot Prussian should've left the poor man at home.

"I can look after him," Russia said suddenly, sounding much like one would say if asked to take care of someone's pet. Vatican seemed a bit relieved, though, if judging by the slight pause in his shifting. Scotland had heard that this holy man had some sort of friendship with Russia of all people, but he didn't expect it to be true. No one had timid and shy as this man would ever think of even being acquainted with the large Russian, let alone be his friend, if they knew what was good for them. Unless Vatican didn't know what was good for him, in which case Scotland couldn't help but feel both sorry and curious. He couldn't he be? Vatican could barely keep still in the presence of new people, yet found solace with a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill or seriously maim him.

He would have to look into this later.

"If you want to, that's fine. Besides, it'll get my dear brother all wound up because the big bad Russian's babysitting a Catholic. Just keep him from panicking too much, will you?" He had his wand back out with a flick of his wrist, doing a silent _Tempus_. "Everyone else is here already somewhere. Meet back here at half past six and we'll decide where to go to eat from there. Don't try to cause too much ruckus or get arrested for indecent exposure." He shot Canada and Prussia a knowing smirk. "Also use normal names. No need to cause England a heart attack earlier than intended."

With agreements to meet up later Scotland disabled the Privacy Ward and the others left- Prussia and Canada going over to Netherlands to have a small chat (which by the look on the taller man's face he wanted nothing to do with them, or at least Prussia) before disappearing further into Diagon. Russia, took Vatican by the elbow, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they wrapped around the rather thin limb and led the nervous (and shaking now- why hadn't he noticed that before?) man to a quieter Alley that branched off of Diagon. The man was still appeared pale and exhausted- perhaps even more so than the last time Scotland saw him. Was he sick? Overworked? He wondered if he ate enough- sometimes he had to go and force feed England when his brother got too engrossed in doing important paperwork. Vatican was too thin to be skipping meals.

Scotland shook his head to rid his concern and worry over the man he barely knew. He had to hope that Russia took care of the charcoal haired country that Prussia had foolishly dragged in without consent.

Diagon was surprisingly busy for a day in September, Scotland noted absently as he lit his cigarette for once, blowing out a smoke ring as he wandered through the main Alley and side Alleys. He bet two-thirds of the people present in Diagon didn't even know about the side Alleys, as the main drag of Diagon had the most necessary and popular stores. At the moment there were twelve Alleys that branched off of either Diagon or Knockturn, or in once case, connected both. Many of them were residential with smaller family shops that dealt with food, exotic potions ingredients they may or may border legality, and shops that sold items that were imported from out of the country, also borderline illegal in many cases. The contrasts between Dark and Light that shone clearly in the differences between Knockturn and Diagon was blurred in these side Alleys. Hopefully the other countries didn't end up pissing off any of the shouldn't-be-living-there-due-to-stupid-Wizarding-laws-but-found-a-loophole residents who would do nothing less than skin them alive. Slowly.

As late morning melted into afternoon, Scotland had seen his fellow countries in various places while playing moderator to keep them from causing too much trouble. England had returned from his visit to Gringotts with a sour-lemon look and after growling at the fiery haired man had stomped off into one of the side Alleys. Whatever business he had to take care of with the goblins certainly didn't go well. Scotland made a minor mental note to try to remember to tell his brother that they had one extra country with them.

Norway and Romania were in fact in Knockturn and spent their times going from store to store, haggling for items that they promptly sold in a different store for doubled the price offered in the store they bought it in. Norway had also bought himself was suspiciously looked like a dragon egg, but Scotland knew better and looked the other way. He wasn't going to get into that mess. That was England's job.

Prussia and Canada were in Zonko's Joke Shop- or rather, Prussia was busy trying to test everything out and Canada trying to drag him away from it all before he blew something up. If the manager's blue and violet swirled skin and vibrant coral colored hair had anything to do with the situation, it looked like Prussia was going to be permanently banned from yet another store. That would make the list up to an even forty stores spanning across six countries- Prussia would be pleased with that.

To Scotland's surprise, Netherlands was having a rather deep discussion with the Greengrass Lord outside the Fortiscue's Ice Cream Parlor about economics and worthy business practices and tricks. For a man who was no fun sure knew out to pick out the intelligent business folk to talk to. At least he didn't find a swindler this time.

He spotted Egypt in the bookshop window half hidden behind books and would remain there until it was time to meet up (not that he was complaining- it was one country less to worry about causing trouble).

The last two- the giant too innocent acting Russian and the uninvited jumpy Italian guest- both of which he hadn't seen hide nor hair of since they disappeared into the side alleys. That was either a good thing or a bad thing, but Scotland wasn't going to go searching for them, not with Russia around. He would only get involved if the Russian came back without the charcoal haired man in tow.

Luckily he didn't have to go on a man hunt, for at half past six the crowd started to die down and the countries gathered at the beginning of Diagon. Russia and Vatican were last to appear, the shorter Italian keeping a half step behind the Russian to give him a large body to quickly duck behind if necessary. He looked a bit better, only looking warily at the remaining people in the streets and was no longer shaking, but he was still pale and tense.

The other countries' reactions were varied. Prussia, the smug bastard, just smiled and waved at the Italian, who gave the man a look of slight betrayal before a flash of guilt crossed his face and looked away from the group, finding the ground much more interesting. Canada smiled apologetically, as usual, before swatting Prussia in the arm, causing the man to stop grinning like an idiot at Vatican and whine instead at the abuse. Romania appeared suspicious, his eyes flickering from the Russian to the Italian, as if trying to figure out if they were up to something very dangerous or Russia had been trying to coerce the man to his side. Norway was too occupied with feeling his pocket full of dragon egg to care and Netherlands looked as icy as he always did with his spiky hair and blank expression. Egypt gave the man a small nod in acknowledgement of his existence before sticking his nose back into an old tome he had bought. England was outright glaring at Vatican as if all his problems in the world boiled down to this man. Perhaps they were, Scotland mused as he stepped into the center of the small cluster.

"Alright then, I'm starved and although it'll be fun to just stand and chat here I'd rather be eating," he said, looking over the other Wizarding countries.

"Well, you're going to have to go without me," England scowled. "I got business to attend to. Don't blow the entire Alley up with your shenanigans. If anything happens it's your fault," he added, jabbing Scotland in the chest with a finger before giving one last glare at Vatican and turned to disappear with a crack.

Scotland rolled his eyes at his brother's grouchiness before looking over at the others, plans changing instantly in his head. "Okay! Now that posh prat is gone, who wants to get shit-faced instead?"

Almost everyone sounded out in agreement, even Netherlands and Egypt to Scotland's surprise; all except Vatican, whom Scotland swore heard him mumble that he didn't drink to his toes. From the look that Romania and Prussia gave each other, Scotland knew that they heard too, and had to suppress a sigh. Vatican wasn't going to escape this without getting at least somewhat tipsy, he just knew it.

Shaking his head, the fiery haired country lead the others down the length of Diagon, to just before Olivander's shop, before leading them straight through a bulletin board full of pamphlets and advertisements and into the Turn-Around.

The Turn-Around was the only street that connected both Knockturn and Diagon together other than intersecting each other. It was also the most Warded and independent, as the entire population occupying the place were that no one would ever see any where's else. Which other Alley could claim that they had a Necromancer, his Muggle wife, and an entire family of seven werewolves living as neighbors with Veela across the road and a centaur that worked at the pub that bore the same name as the street?

The Turn-Around was also unique in a way that it contained one of the three entrances into the Wizarding sector of London in the Muggle world. While The Leaky Cauldron had its entrance only visible to those of Magical blood, the entrance to the Turn-Around was at the back of a flower shop that their sole Muggle resident ran.

Of course only the lucky and more trustworthy of normal Wizards could ever get access to this place without spilling the beans to the authorities, but they weren't exactly normal Wizards now, were they?

The pub, although that word was quite poor to describe the place, was at most four times larger than The Leaky Cauldron, with its wide main floor full of tables and chairs of various sizes, a long mahogany counter with matching stools, shelves floor to ceiling full of various bottles and mixtures from all over the world, and a high ceiling with bronze and iron chandeliers.

The place was only partially full at this time of day, but already quite loud, the ruckus caused by the group of five dwarves in the one corner of the room arguing loudly in their native language as they played some sort of game using small tiles and polished stones. The other customers consisted of two harpies, a siren, four men with sharp dragon-like features, seven off duty goblins, and what looked like half a coven of vampires . Yes, this was considered partially full.

Scotland made a beeline for the counter, only slowing down to made nod in greeting to the flea-bitten grey centaur that was making his way over to the harpies bearing a platter of practically raw meat and dodging around a satyr who was busy trying to flirt with one of the vampires (two of the three workers of the fine establishment) before perching himself on one of the stools as he leaned against the stone surface. "Oi! Eli! You going to leave your precious booze unguarded with me around? I didn't know you trusted me!"

"I don't!" came the reply from the only empty space on the wall-to-wall shelves that happened to be a doorway to the kitchens. "Go sit on your hands or someth'n' if you can't trust your klepto hands from grab'n'!"

The other countries settled down at the counter around him, some like Norway, Romania, and Prussia, looked like they were going to burst with excitement at seeing so many Magical Creatures in one place, while others like Netherlands and Egypt looked unimpressed. Russia looked right at home with that creepy smile of his with Vatican at his side. Vatican's reaction rang odd to Scotland, as the man seemed more interested in the room itself than the occupants.

"What is this place?" the charcoal haired man murmured to himself, his eyes fixated on one of the iron chandeliers.

"This is The Turn-Around, my dear friend."

Eli had appeared from the kitchen, a damp cloth in hand and a smirk on her lips. She was a tall, thin woman at 6'2'' with clear characteristics that proved her not to be truly human, if she had a drop of it at all in her blood. Her golden eyes were serpentine, the pupils slitted, with light green scales smooth on her cheekbones. Her hair was chopped short, causing it to wave and stick all over the place, but the bright rainbow color running down each strand made her head a chaotic mess to look at.

"Established some time ago by yours truly. I was bored with politics back home so this became my vacation," Eli said, approaching the counter to get a closer look at them. Her smile showed off her sharpened canines on both the top and bottom rows of teeth. "Of course, a vacation would never be complete with a visit from you, Scollistor. Going to introduce us?"

Scotland grinned at the nickname. Out of all non-countries who knew who he was, Eli had to be the one who twisted him human and country name into one just to be an utter dick. "My dear, I can be much as a gentleman as my dear brother can," he said. "And these are friends and acquaintances." He name every one of them (first name only), starting with Romania (which the Scottish man simply called him V because that's all he remembered of him name) and ended with Vatican, who just so happened to be sitting at the very end of the line trying to hide behind Russia's bigger body. "I was going to bring more, but I know you just love being swamped by 'my kind' so I had to leave them at home. So cold hearted you are, Eli."

That smart remark got him swatted over the head with a wet towel. "Cheeky brat. As long as you pay for your drinks and don't run up a tab I don't give a shit who or what you drag in here. Now are you going to lollygag or order?"

The evening went on and more people and creatures came into The Turn-Around. The countries had all ordered at least three drinks minimum. Russia had ordered Vatican a 'Water', which caused Eli to smirk, as 'Water' was an alcoholic drink that had been turned to 'water' by Magic that made it look and taste exactly like water but retained its alcoholic properties. It used to be used to smuggle FireWhiskey into America during the Temperance Movement, but now it was used to trick people who typically didn't drink to get utterly snuckered. So far it seemed that Vatican hadn't noticed.

As evening blurred into night the empty drink glasses rose higher and higher as the room grew louder and louder. Romania had snuggled up to twin vampires and was quite comfortable flirting with them as he sat in between the well endowed women. Norway was off gambling his dragon egg at the tile and polished stone game the dwarves had been playing- the group now thirteen solid. Netherlands had slipped out some hours ago after getting a call and hadn't returned since. Prussia and Canada were snogging it out in a far corner, and he had no idea where the others were in the crowded room.

Sometime after that Scotland's memory seemed to blur into random colors and noises, nothing making much sense. They all had a bit too much to drink, losing all count on what they had consumed, especially after the drinking competition. Not that it mattered- all Scotland cared was that his mouth was being assaulted by the taste of honey, pomegranate, and pecans as someone gripped him close and he really didn't want that taste to leave because damn it was good. Fuck everything- he will let the others get into their shenanigans and he'll deal with the consequences tomorrow.

It wouldn't be until early afternoon the next day when Scotland got to see the trouble they had gotten themselves in.

* * *

**Notes:  
**

**Qilin is a dragon-horse thing from China. You can Google a picture.  
**

**The Turn-Around and Eli were both from a plot fragment I had that was also in the Harry Potter realm. I had never gotten around to actually typing it up, so they're here. I know Eli's a guy's name, and she knows it too and she doesn't give a shit. Also guess what creature she actually is and I'll give you a cookie. **

**Also Scollistor= Scotland and Allistor mixed together. Apparently that's what Scotland's name is from what I've gathered. I don't know Romania's name either, so I just left the whole naming thing out.  
**

**I tried to incorporate other countries into this chapter because I could. I hope it didn't become a big giant mess. Who am I kidding, of course it turned into a big mess. A big drunken mess.  
**

**Also, when booze is mentioned, Scotland seemed to become much more cheerful. **

**And PrusCan is a thing here. I always liked this pairing for some reason. Must be the pancakes.**

**There might also be a vague movie/book reference as well... not too sure though...**

**So... this chapter and the following chapter are going to be related. I just know it. I just need to work it out... I wanted to do something not directly related but partially related and this happened... It does relate to the story, yes it does, maybe nothing in the direct future but it will... Or I just did this to show the relationships and interactions between the other Wizarding countries? I mean, Romania and Norway causing shenanigans and Netherlands being himself... **

**Which brings up another thing: What sort of shenanigans had all these countries gotten themselves into? You can give me ideas guys! I don't mind at all! It will actually helped me a boatload! :3Also I'm thinking of adding Scotland to the list of starring characters for this story- what do you guys think?  
**

**Please favorite/follow/review! I love being stalked and bothered! **

**(This chapter was posted on May 8, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Twelve Hours Later**


	20. Twelve Hours Later

**Warnings: Language and the results of what drunken shenanigans rewards people. Nothing is in detail but you are warned that things are mentioned...  
**

**Please point out any errors- I'll go and fix them because I'm a lazy snot in proofreading.**

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Chapter 20- Twelve Hours Later

Why was it cold? He was used to chilled conditions, but he recalled being in England, where it was a warm day, not cold like frigid concrete. He remembered drinking and gambling with a bunch of dwarves, losing his dragon egg much to his dismay, but after that everything was fuzzy. Gods he hated Magical brews. He could get up and walk the next day after drinking normal Muggle booze, but the Wizard and Magical Creature made liquor sure packed a wallop. He brought his hands to his face, groaning loudly.

"Well, you're finally awake."

That voice... wasn't familiar. Not one bit. Too English-y for anyone he knew, and not pompous enough for it to be England.

Slowly he lowered his hands from his face, cracking his eyes open. It took a few blinks to focus his vision, and what he saw made his face fall into a blank mask.

Concrete and metal bars was his world, and a bench bolted to the floor was what he was lying on. He had seen enough TV series to know where he was.

"What the fuck am I doing in a jail cell?" he asked, turning his eyes to look at the young brunette policeman standing on the other side of the bars.

"That's what you get for being drunk as a skunk running stark naked with an equally drunk moose that we have no idea what zoo you stole it from, Mr..." there was a sound of rustling paper and scraping of plastic as the man sorted through his IDs. "Lukas Bondevik. You foreigners sure know how to party."

"...How did I get a moose?"

"Hell if I know. We took it to the nearest zoo to let it sober up while we get you to sober in this here cell until someone pays bail or until four days are up."

"Shit."

* * *

Meanwhile, across town, one dark brown moose with surprising and stunning violet eyes was staring at itself in the glass window, sobriety kicking it in the head underneath a massive rack of antlers. For its recollection (or lack of thereof) from its nights actions and its current predicament, only one word could come to mind to describe it all.

_Maple..._

* * *

Half a continent away, a hungover Romanian was waking up to find himself in a sticky predicament. Literally.

"Eww." He pulled a face, trying to wipe the molding jam and rotting vegetable leaves off his arm, only succeeding in smearing it further into his flesh and clothes. Huffing, Romania stood up in the garbage and food waste, managing to pull himself out of the dumpster without falling back into the heaping mess. He didn't do too well on his landing though, and found himself covered with a nice layer of grit off the pavement.

Trying to brush himself off into maintaining what little dignity he had left, the country racked his hazy mind as to how he got here. Unlike some countries, he could at least remember what he did that night. He went to an awesome pub with his fellow Wizarding countries, had more than a few drinks, flirted with some vampires, and when he got tired decided to Port Key home like the responsible person he was. However, he recalled two people bumping into him when the Port Key activated, whisking all three of them away. The force of their bumping must have made him let go of it during transport, as he wasn't anywhere near his living room like he was supposed to be. Whoops.

Still, he wasn't sure if he could count his blessings that he landed in Prague of all places. Being smack dab in the middle of Slovakia wasn't a place he wanted to wake up in, especially in a dumpster. However, he was close enough to Romania that he could just Apparate to several Wizarding places to get back home without risk of Splinching himself too badly.

Although, he couldn't help but wonder whatever happened to the other two who accidentally hitched a ride with him. Hopefully none of them were dead on his living room floor. That would give his House Elves quite a fright.

* * *

Romania's two Port Key hitchhikers both made it within the country's borders. However, only one managed to make it to the living room. Zâmbet the House Elf had been quite startled to feel the Wards on his Master's home grant his Master's Port Key entrance, but not to find his Master there. Instead there had been a darker skinned man who had both of his arms wrapped around several books, his Master's hawthorn cross Port Key laying a little ways away. The man felt the same as his Master's, and although smelling like alcohol and unconscious, Zâmbet levitated the man and set him to one of the guest bedrooms. He figured that his Master had sent his friend country to his home because he was too drunk to go to his own home, and that made the little House Elf very happy knowing that his Master was having a house guest for the first time in many many years.

* * *

The second hitchhiker did not make it that far, nor was he unconscious in post-drunken stupor.

"For the love of-! Will you leave me alone?!"

There was low rumbling that sounded soon proceeded by loud German swearing.

Really, waking up in a dragon's nest and immediately being adopted by the mothering dragon was the last thing Prussia needed, even if his scarlet eyes and white hair matched the giant flying lizard's coloration. He kept trying to sneak around the cold-blooded mother hen far enough so he could at least Apparate out, but the evil thing kept picking him up by the back of his shirt like a cat would do to its kitten and plop him back down amongst the grasses, scales, and feathers of victim birds that layered the neatly dug hole in the ground for its five eggs.

He hadn't meant to hitch a ride with Romania- he just wanted to get his attention so he could ask him where Canada was while trying to keep a mumbling Egypt on his feet at the same time. He accidentally tripped on Egypt's robe and sent them both tumbling into Romania just when the Port Key was activated. Now he was here with neither the vampire-like country or the Egyptian in sight. The only reason why he recognized where he was at was because he visited once.

Hopefully some Reserve worker would come to rescue him from the now nuzzling Siberian Snow Scales- but little did he know that wouldn't be for a few more hours when one fiery-haired Weasley went on Abraxas Patrol.

* * *

"What do you think? Does this idea sound promising enough to invest in?"

Netherlands lowered his cup of tea, his brow slightly furrowed as he processed the information in his head. "The plan does have its merits," he said slowly, swirling his tea as he thought. "If you and your...acquaintances... manage to make the appropriate steps in the Law, then I will consider, Lord Greengrass. However, I need to consult the numbers and my Manager before I make an executive decision."

"There is no rush. I am content in having you simply consider it. Wizarding Britain will grow and prosper exponentially if everything plays out accordingly."

Netherlands simply sipped his tea in silence.

* * *

Scotland had been drinking long enough to know what to do after becoming conscious after a bout of liquor consumption. First was to keep eyes shut, so any light present wouldn't blind him or make his headache worse. Second was to breathe deeply and slowly take in what he could sense in order to figure out where he was.

He could feel wood under his bare body, locating him to a floor. However, there was fabric draped over and around him- blankets, his mind supplied. So he must've rolled out of bed, yes, that was the most logical conclusion. Yet the room did not smell like heather and cedar, so he wasn't in his own room. He must still be at The Turn-Around.

His practice of localizing was thrown off kilter when he took notice of some rhythmic, humid puff of air kept brushing against his side, and even more so when he realized something narrow was laying over his hips, making that part of him slightly warmer than the rest.

Breathing- someone was breathing against him.

That connected a few dots in his tired head. He didn't make it home because he had a partner. As a general rule he didn't take lovers home with him, especially one night stands. No need for unwanted repeats. Scotland let his fingers trail blindly towards the source of the extra heat, not bothering to open his eyes and see disappointment in his drunken choices. Might as well enjoy it before facing cold reality and see someone hideous, after all.

This person was thin, his fingers able to feel the bones in the arm that draped over his hips. Raised flesh pointed to scars that lingered all across his partner's flesh, all of various sizes and shapes. He spent a minute to trace over the many chaotic patterns, trying to think of all the stories behind each one before moving on. His fingers gently brushed up over a narrow and equally scarred shoulder to ghost over thin cheeks, a narrow nose, sharp chin, and slightly jutting cheekbones before touching something that was in between coarse and soft.

His sleeping partner let out a small sigh as Scotland carded through the curious feeling hair, pushing long bangs and slight curled sides back until he reached the nape of the person's neck. He paused as the person shifted, only to press the too thin face further into the gap between his hips and his ribs.

Scotland resumed stroking his partner's hair, finding it quite relaxing for some strange reason. He continued even as the door opened and soft footsteps approached, feeling a body crouching down near his head.

"Es hora de despertar y oler las rosas, Scollistor," the quiet, yet familiar voice of Eli sounded above him.

Scotland only suppressed a groan and the urge to swat at her in order to not disturb his sleeping partner.

Grudgingly the country opened his green-yellow eyes, finding the curtains still closed, to his pleasure, yet to his displeasure seeing Eli couched down above him, her serpentine eyes seeming to glow in the semi-darkness.

"I think you two make a great couple," she whispered, her lips curling into a smirk as she set down two Hangover and Pain Relief Potions onto the floor beside them. "Although I should warn you to at least bail the room before he wakes. I don't think he'll react well to having done something stupid while drunk again."

Scotland's brow furrowed. What on earth was she talking about? Well, he didn't care about his partner being male- he took whatever he got- but why did he had to leave before his partner awoke? What, was he married or something?

Deciding not to push the inevitable any further, Scotland gathered his courage to look down to take a look at his sleeping partner. He had been expecting anything- well, anything but what he saw.

After all, it wasn't everyday one woke up to card fingers through the charcoal gray hair of a liquor-induced sleeping, very naked Vatican City.

Suddenly escaping the room before the man awoke and had a panic attack made perfect sense.

* * *

"Oh! I didn't know you were back from your trip! How was it?"

Russia looked over at his sister Ukraine for a moment before his lips cracked into an innocent smile that didn't match the glint in his violet eyes. "It was very interesting. Very interesting indeed."

* * *

**Translations: **

**Romanian- Zâmbet - Smile. Yes, Romania named his house elf Smile. **

**Spanish- Es hora de despertar y oler las rosas- It's time to wake up and smell the roses. **

**Notes:  
**

**So! Countries don't know how to behave themselves... Silly countries, getting into all sorts of trouble... **

**I really just made stuff up along here. Siberian Snow Scales, Canada as a Moose Animagaus, and the only two making it out without issues are Russia and Netherlands. I'm surprised no one died... **

**Also, the Romanian Dragon Reserve has Abraxas Patrol. Because he just shows up without warning and gets into all sorts of shenanigans with the dragons! And if no one figured it out, Charlie saves Prussia in the end. Oh, and Egypt was the one who actually managed to get to Romania's home in one piece.  
**

**Romania's Port Key's made of Hawthorn, which is one of the traditional woods one would use to stab a vampire full of holes. It's a cross because irony? **

**Also I picked Prague, Slovakia because of reasons. The same way I picked Romania to wake up in a dumpster. **

**Netherlands' plotting business with Greengrass! What sort of business they're getting into, I have no idea~**

**Scotland's been a rather bad boy... well, so had Vatican, but it's both their faults for getting wasted! I wonder if anything's going to come out of this... Hm... **

**Lastly, Canada's a Moose because...well...because why not? What, you didn't think his Animagaus form would be something cute and innocent, did you? Of course not, he's a massive, several ton beast of destruction instead! **

**(This chapter was posted on May 11, 2014)  
**

**Next Chapter: Sins of the Godfather, Wrongfully Accused  
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	21. Sins of the Godfather,Wrongfully Accused

**Warnings: Not a lot of language, although mentions a lot of people. A lot. Like, almost everyone. Really. **

**Apologies ahead of time for any spelling errors and the like. **

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Chapter 21- Sins of the Godfather, Wrongfully Accused

The end of September brought along a wave of nervousness for Harry. It wasn't that school was the problem, oh no. In fact, his opinion of the school had increased, or at least his number of closer friends (as his opinion on the Defense teacher was about on par with everyone else's: the Goldilock-like bastard could shove his dozen or so waste of good paper and money up his arse so far he was regurgitating them). Luna and Ginny had wormed their way into his trust much like Neville and the Twins had. He and Ron had a little row about the second week into the semester and they weren't talking anymore, not that Harry cared. It was something about Ron's Quidditch skills, or lack of thereof. Hermione had become less pushy and know-it-all-y, but she had been rather subdue since the beginning of the year anyhow. At first Harry didn't really care, glad that he had both of his 'friends' that had continuously breathed down his neck First Year were no longer bothering him. However, when Hermione leaned over and told Fred to stir the potion they were planning on making two counterclockwise and then add the unicorn hoof shavings to make the potion last double the time during Lunch, Harry couldn't ignore this change any longer. Neither could Fred and George, and after peeking at the Marauder's Map, found out that Hermione Granger was often vising a Mr. Theodore Nott when no one else was around- usually in the Library or in mostly unused parts of the Grounds.

Whoever this Nott person was, he was good for Hermione, and Harry couldn't find fault in it. Perhaps he could talk to him sometime.

But no, his nerves wasn't about friends or school- it was about his Godfather. He didn't even know he had one until this summer, and when he found out from Lady Bones- or Amelia, as she told him to call her- that Sirius Black hadn't had a trial, she promised him to hell and back that she will get him a fair trial. She wasn't the one who found the lack of trial records, she had told him, looking rather disappointed in herself at that, but it had come up in the first Wizengamot meeting of the term by a newly minted Lord Slytherin. It was a win-win, really. If Black really was innocent, it would be a slap to the corrupt government's face for throwing a Lord of an Ancient and Noble House into prison without the following of the law, and Harry could potentially gain a guardian, or at least after he went through a Mind Healer for his time in Azkaban. If he was guilty, then it was justice well served, a tying up of a loose end, making it look like the government was doing some good, but Harry would still be out of a guardian, but at least he knew why he wouldn't. Still, the trial itself was nerve wracking to Harry, as this was his one chance of getting close to the only relative he had that wasn't a Muggle.

This September morning was the trial of Sirius Black, and by demand of his current guardian, Harry found himself being seated in the large Courtroom on one of the benches in the guests and watchers, just above the reporters and looking around at the assembling Wizengamot. Of course Dumbledore had thrown a well hidden fit when Amelia had requested that Harry should be at the trial, but an accord had been struck. That was why he was sitting here alongside an irritated Snape. Amelia had told Harry in private that Snape and Black, as well as Harry's father, hadn't been on the best of terms during their school years. It was quite apparent now that Snape wanted nothing more than to throw Black back into his cell and go back to brewing potions just by the scowl and the folded arms. Snape had been less of a twat so far, and said absolutely nothing to Harry when they Floo'd into the Ministry, which was quite an improvement for Harry.

Trying to ignore his nerves and the obviously sulking professor beside him, Harry turned his emerald gaze to look around at the members of the Wizengamot that so far arrived. Regulus had taught him all the Houses that held seats in this government body- most to all from long lines of Wizarding families. A few Half Bloods were also present in the body, their saving graces being the blood and the name they carried. It wasn't a very good practice, Harry mused as he watched an old squat man trying to situate his robes so they wouldn't bunch up. There was no representation from the Muggleborns or the 'Half Breeds', which many of the other countries outside of Europe already accounted for. European countries like France had some rules for 'Half Breeds', as many of their population contained Veela blood, but like most of Europe, Muggleborns and other Magical Creatures and 'Half Breeds' had fallen to the waist-side of government bodies, their voices not heard unless uprising or a Dark Lord came about.

"You look like you're about to fidget out of your seat, young man."

Harry nearly jumped when someone settled on the bench beside him, ignoring the sharp look they both received from Snape. The man had a dark, sandy colored hair that reached about his shoulders, his nose slightly bent and clothes not too expensive but enough to pass for a Half-Blood. However, it was the icy blue eyes that made Harry relax. Only one person he knew had those eyes.

"Sorry sir, I'm just not used to being in a place like this," Harry said, smiling sheepishly but his eyes narrowed slightly in questioning.

"I haven't seen it this crowded either, although it's not everyday a mass murderer gets out of Azkaban for a trial. Usually they get sent in after the trial. Oh, looks like old Mrs. Sweever is glamoring her hair again. Don't know why- everyone knows she's been gray since the '60's."

Ah, so he glamored himself, Harry suppressed a smirk, although the corners of his lips did twitch upward. After all, Regulus couldn't just walk in to his brother's trial looking like himself. He'd give everyone a heart attack.

"Excuse me sir, but do you know who that is?" Harry asked, his eyes catching something a fiery red out of the corner of his vision. The man was busy pulling his robes over his shoulders, covering the Muggle clothes underneath. A man with similar facial features, although with much thicker eyebrows and blondish-brown hair rather than red hair and wearing much more expensive looking robes glared over at the new arrival.

The glamored Regulus' eyebrows went to his hairline as he leaned closer to Harry, his voice lower. "Them's the Kirkland Brothers. They're one of the few families in the entire European continent that carries the title of Regal instead of Noble that are still alive. The Founders' lines carry the title too. The Most Ancient and Regal House of Kirkland. I don't think they've been to a Wizengamot meeting since Grindewald's time."

Harry looked at Regulus before looking over at the pair. The caterpillar eyebrowed one gave the red head a withering look before pointing at something. The other blinked, raising his hand to his neck and pulled down the collar of his Muggle shirt, revealing several sets of teethmarks along his neck and upper shoulder. Caterpillar Man wrinkled his nose in disgust while the Fire Head's cheeks tinted pink, letting go of the collar and pulling his robes farther up than they should be, covering the marks.

Harry heard Regulus stifle a snort beside him.

"That one with the love bite's Allistor Kirkland," Regulus continued on. "He's older of the two brothers, as well as Lord of the House. He lets his younger brother there, Arthur Kirkland do all the politics though, and he's the Lord of the Seats, as they would refer to him. While they both carry the title of Lords and Arthur does all the politics and stuff, Allistor has the final say in any matter. I don't think both of them's been on the Seat since... ever. This must be something they really disagree on."

Which, Harry translated in his head, could be very good or very bad.

Soon the entire room was packed, full with audience and Wizengamot members, along with the Minister of Magic, several Court Scribes, and about thirty reporters. Regulus pointed out a few Lords, such as Lucius, who came solo today, and a new Lord that neither of them knew, but a polite old lady from the seat behind them supplied that the man was Lord Slytherin. He looked like an old Pureblood, with the aristocratic features and rich silken robes. His amethyst eyes threw Harry off though, wondering if the man had some sort of Creature blood in him to have such an unusual color.

The entire room fell silence went Dumbledore rose to his feet. As Chief Warlock, he opened the Court with the usual dates and times. Then he gave the court over to Amelia, who was heading the trial.

Amelia rose to her feet, the older Witch emminating power and justice on her average height frame and serious expression. "Bring in the accused!"

The doors opened and an foreboding iciness swept through the room. "Dementors," Regulus muttered beside Harry. "Nasty things, they are. Hope they don't come in here with all these people."

Luckily the Dementors stayed outside as four Aurors came in, leading a man in chain- or rather, half dragging the man as he was apparently not going fast enough and forced him into the lone chair in the middle of the room.

Sirius Black was a mess. His dark black hair was long and scraggly, greasy and dirty and tangled into knots that scissors would refuse to cut through. His skin was pulled tight along his bones, giving him a starved and haunted look. His eyes, however, betrayed the broken and filthy appearance, the similar icy blue flickering about in curious glances and hiding a faint sliver of hope.

"Lord Sirius Black," Amelia began, ignoring the looks she received by using the title. "You are here to stand trial for the murders of thirteen Muggles and the betrayal of Lord James Potter and Lady Lily Potter. As ruling states, you must be subjected to Veritaserum. You have right to refuse, but refusal will effect the outcome of the trial. Do you permit the use of Veritaserum on your person?"

The icy orbs locked onto Amelia, licking his cracked lips. "I accept the use," he said, his voice hoarse from misuse.

With a sharp nod from the Head of the DMLE, a grizzly scarred Auror with a glass eye that swiveled around to stare in the back of his head and clunked along on a wooden leg came forward, administering the potion to Black. When his eyes seemed to glaze over and his body slump, Amelia began.

"What is your name?"

"Lord Sirius Orion Black," the man replied back in a monotone voice.

"Are you, or were you in liege with the Dark Lord?"

"No."

That brought some unrest from the crowd. Harry saw Arthur Kirkland's forehead wrinkle while Allistor leaned back, hiding a smirk that his green-yellow eyes betrayed. Harry now knew who supported what.

Amelia silenced the people before continuing with the questions. "Did you betray the Potters?"

"No."

Amelia glared around, almost daring people to disturb her court while she was in charge. No one made a peep, although many looked like they wanted to protest. Dumbledore was rather void of emotion- strange.

"What happened on the night of October 31?"

The explanation was short, but to the point. Harry and Regulus had to pull their emotions down as Sirius explained how he wasn't the Secret Keeper for the Potters, but Pettigrew was, and when he made it to the Potters after a House Elf came to him in a panic as to what to do, he found the house a mess, James and Lily dead, Harry whimpering, and a pile of empty, unknown robes and a wand in the Nursery. He told them how he picked up Harry to calm him while trying to determine what to do. Hagrid had shown up then, saying that Dumbledore had told him to get Harry and take him to a safe place. Sirius relayed his thoughts on that matter, and if he wasn't under a potion he would have been growling in fury. In the end he relented after Hagrid said that Death Eaters might show up, and gave the half-giant his motorbike after unshrinking it from his pocket.

When the half-giant had left, Sirius straightened out the bodies of Lily and James, placing them in traditional poses of burial and respect to the dead while he waited for Aurors to arrive. When Dumbledore showed up instead, he described how he suddenly felt angry at Pettigrew, and soon went off to find his once friend. He relayed how he confronted Pettigrew, how the man cut his own finger off after throwing an overpowered _Bombarda_ and turned into his rat Animagus form, which right after the Aurors showed up to take Sirius away.

At the end of the explanation, the entire court was roaring with life. People were shouting, the words bouncing off the walls into one chaotic ring. It made Harry flinch, while Regulus seemed to sink low in his seat, looking utterly relieved so far. His brother was innocent, and he might actually get out of this alive.

The chaos was brought to quick order from a loud bang from Amelia's wand, the woman looking utterly unamused. "Now that you all have calmed yourselves," she growled, eyes narrowed as she glared at them all. "We can get back to the matter at hand. You have heard for your own ears under Veritaserum. What is the vote?"

It was almost unanimous of the vote of innocence. Lord Slytherin did rise from his chair though.

"I propose that Lord Black be sent to a Healer, both of mind and body. His stay at Azkaban certainly did not do him well."

Amelia brought the notion forward and it was too accepted. Other proposals were to remove the Order of Merlin from Pettigrew and put a warrant for his head, both of which were approved. Dumbledore looked slightly insulted for even being brought up in the explanation, and Arthur Kirkland was actually sulking- his arms folded and his lips curled. His brother looked highly amused and smug, ignoring the fact that his robe slipped down and exposed the uppermost bite mark on his neck as he voted in his brother's stead.

Sirius was soon unlocked from his chains and taken away by the Aurors to St. Mungos, the grizzly man that Regulus had leaned over and whispered to Harry his name- Moody- shot Amelia a knowing smirk even though his magical eye was staring straight at Regulus before leaving the Courtroom. The crowds began to talk loudly as the trial came to an end. Harry was disappointed that he couldn't see his Godfather today, but he knew with this crowd, it wasn't worth the risk. He looked over at Amelia, receiving a small nod that she would meet up with him at a later date to discuss things further. He nodded back before turning and wishing goodbye to the disguised Regulus, who said his pleasantries as he was swept away with the crowd.

With a sigh that deflated the tension within his body, Harry felt exhausted as Snape steered him out of the Courtroom and towards the fireplaces to Floo back to Hogwarts, his sharp glare scaring off any reporters from approaching them to harass the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry was silently grateful- he probably would've hexed them to Oblivion if it had been anyone else but Snape leading him.

Still, he was relieved. He had a chance to gain a guardian, a Godfather, and a friend of the family back in one move. Things were beginning to look up.

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**Notes:  
**

**Whew, I think I got just about everyone in this chapter. Everyone of immediate importance, at least. And some who aren't. **

**Anyway, Sirius is free! He's going to get patched up a bit first, though, but he'll be up and about in no time. **

**I made the Kirklands hold a slightly superior title than to the rest of them plebeians. What sounds better than Noble like Regal does? I didn't mean to make it similar to my username, but that's how it happened. Oops? I suppose that means the King and Queen and the like would be titled Royal.**

**On another note- 30 REVIEWS, 33 FOLLOWERS AND 17 FAVES. I AM SO HAPPY GUYS. WE BEAT THE RECORDS ON MY STORIES! **

**AND POND RAM MADE PICTURES OF VATI AND SCOT! The links should be on her profile picture.**

** ALSO SHE MADE A FANFIC ABOUT THEM. I am happy. It's called Blind Date and I'm making her write more than one chapter. I don't know if the title name will change or not, but that's what is now. You should read it. It's adorable. **

**I like how everyone commented on how they liked Canada as a moose in the last chapter. I mean, it's fitting. Moose. Canada. Ha ha. **

**And to answer the question as to how Netherlands got to talking to Greengrass- he got called away from the bar. Business comes before socializing for Netherlands. And the question about Eli knowing... well, she knows everything... or that Vatican talks a lot when he's drunk. *shrugs*  
**

**Anyway, KEEP BOTHERING AND STALKING ME. I LIKE IT. MAKES ME FEEL IMPORTANT. Just kidding, it motivates me to write more often.  
**

**(This chapter was posted on May 14, 2014)**

**Next Chapter: Whispers in the Night**


	22. Whispers in the Night

**Warnings: Not very well written. Telling you ahead of time. Sorry. Also some explanations? Maybe? Things. There may or may not be any language, I really don't remember, though. So I'll warn you anyway. Note to self- stop writing while being dead tired after a full day of work. Not a good idea. **

**Please point out any errors, I shall correct it. Or I'll attempt to look this over in the morning and correct whatever I see when I'm not dead. Thanks.**

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Chapter 22 -Whispers in the Night

It was a week since the trial of Sirius Black, and at a quarter to midnight, all the occupants of the Malfoy Manor were still wide awake. Abraxas stroked the large Forest Eagle Owl absently as he read through the letter that the owl delivered while continuously ignoring the pacing of his son. Lucius prowled in front of the fire place of the Floo Room, losing his Malfoy regality in favor of being an impatient and worrying husband.

"Lucius, calm your tits. Narcissa's not even technically late yet and you're acting like she's going to be mauled by Black," Marvolo snapped, irritated by the constant pacing. Or, he was just irritated because Abraxas had pulled him away from his exploration of spell making (which mostly involved setting various things on fire in his room) and had dragged him along to "keep his son company". Well, at least he had his House Elves bring a couple of the comfy cushioned chairs from the sitting room, which Marvolo and Abraxas currently occupied.

Lucius stopped his pacing long enough to huff at Marvolo. "She might be! Hell knows what Azkaban has done to her cousin's head! He was off the walls when he was in school, and now after a decade stuck in a dank environment, that Black insanity could've rooted deep."

"She's a certified Healer and a Black for fuck's sake! I'm sure she can handle one post-inmate without being a damsel in distress."

"Just let him pace," Abraxas told Marvolo, watching his son scowl and begin his pacing again, muttering under his breath. "In any case, Charlie wrote. Said a German albino wizard had a bit too much to drink and woke up to being adopted by a mothering Snow Scales. Took them over two hours to get the poor bloke away."

"I don't like you having correspondences with Weasleys," Marvolo growled, sinking low into his seat, his sanguine eyes seeming to glow in the firelight.

Abraxas looked up from folding the letter in half, blinking once before a smirk crossed his face. "Are you jealous?"

"What? No. Don't be absurd."

"I don't think it's absurd. You got a little green going on, and I'm not talking about illness or cunning."

Marvolo puffed his cheeks out, on the verge of exploding judging by the particular shade of red his face and ears took on, but any brewing argument was cut short as the flickering flames turned a bright green.

Narcissa barely stepped out of the fireplace before Lucius was all over her, checking her for any unseen injuries.

"Lucius, I'm fine," she said, although her voice sounding exhausted and not all too convincing.

"How was Black?" Abraxas butted in before Lucius could fret over his wife some more.

"Physically? He's malnourished, needs more baths and showers, plenty of rest and some sunlight. Mentally? He needs a lot of work, but he will recover." Narcissa ran her fingers through her slightly disheveled hair. "Those Healers at Mungo's were incompetent at best, but the Ministry needed their 'professionals' observations' before he could be transferred to a private Healer. Andy and I have our work cut out."

It wasn't common knowledge, but the three sisters; Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Adromeda, had been very close- and still were to an extent. With Adromeda marrying a Muggleborn and the previous war looming, they agreed to keep contact minimal to keep their masks in place, and so they wouldn't endanger the other. The Blacks in general were a very tight-knitted family, and with two Blacks facing and had faced Azkaban's torture, the family was starting to clump back together again to fix what was left. Adromeda and Narcissa were both certified Healers- and they would and will use their training to fix what they could.

There's something else bothering you," Lucius murmured, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs as he held her face.

Her face crumpled slightly. "It's Bella. Sirius was in the cell across from her, and from what he described... she's in much worse condition than he. She always was the more fragile in mentality than the rest of us..." She took a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself. "She would be in worse condition if Rodolphus wasn't in the cell next to her and hadn't broken a small hole in the wall so they could see each other..."

Lucius pulled her into a hug, comforting her as she did her best to keep from breaking down in front of the Lords. It was hard for Narcissa, as her family once torn apart was slowly coming back together, but they were not like they had been before the war. Everyone had either been broken, arrested, or banished from the House, all except her. She felt guilty that she had gotten away with having a good life, while the others had suffered in their own way. Despite this guilt, she was determined to set things straight, even if that meant playing Nurse for the rest of her life to her mentally unstable relations.

Marvolo had straightened up in his seat when the Malfoy nee Black arrived, and his eyes were narrowed in finality. "Narcissa, I promise that I will do whatever is in my power to get Bella out of there," he said, his voice rumbling with determination. It was his fault she was stuck there to begin with- he had to clean up his mess and get her the hell out of there. Even if he did work with Dementors in the last war didn't mean he liked them.

Narcissa hastily wiped the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. "Thank you, Marvolo." She let Lucius drag her towards the doorway, but then she suddenly stopped stiffening as she remembered something. "Lord Slytherin, I was told to give this to you. It's clean of any spells , but whatever is inside is rather... Dark." She reached into her pocket, pulling the envelope out and handing it over.

Marvolo blinked, pursing his lips as he took the strangely shaped and heavy envelope. At the touch, hover, he could feel something familiar. Very familiar.

Sanguine eyes widening, the man ripped through the paper, and tipped the envelope, dumping the glinting silver and jewels of the Slytherin Locket into his hand. His Horcrux. But how-?

Long fingers clenching the locket, Marvolo searched the envelope for any other clues, but he found nothing except Lord Mavolo Slytherin written in an hauntingly familiar looping form. That, and the fact that only one other person knew where he had put the locket originally...

"Regulus is alive."

* * *

"This is getting out of hand, Albus."

An old grandfather clock chimed to midnight as England paced around Dumbledore's office, hands clasped behind his back. "You promised me that Potter would be safe with his relatives. You told me Black was the Secret Keeper and that he betrayed him. I helped throw him in prison! Now Black's innocent of all charges, the Dursleys are accountable for abuse, and Potter's guardianship is up in the air!"

The Englishman scowled, kicking a chair out of his way as he continued to stomp around the room ranting. "The goblins won't even let me see the Potters' Will so I can figure out who exactly was supposed to get the Heir. 'It's under review', they said. 'Come back when it's unsealed by the family'. Now some government or goblin miscreant is pawing through the Will and I can't even see it to put to rest one thing!"

He wasn't done, though, as he rounded to stomp the other direction. "Now the only thing I did get from the goblins was Lord Slytherin's heritage test. Turns out it's true. The blighter's actually the Dark Lord's son! And his proposals are driving up support for the Dark! True many of his ideals will be better in the end, but still!"

The large window cracked as the man stormed passed, his magic flurrying about him in his anger.

"Hogwarts is a disgrace! Classes being cut, can't keep a Defence professor alive longer than a year, and a droll ghost that's been teaching the same shit since I was in school! Regulations and biased fears are keeping us from achieving the greatness that the other countries are having. The Wizengamot isn't listening, other countries are laughing, everything is collapsing far faster than should be normal, there are whispers in the Ministry that dead people are coming back to life, and you, you aren't helping any!"

Stopping short in front of the desk, England grabbed the teacup, draining the cold liquid before slamming it down onto the wood surface, cracking the fragile china. "Now I must leave before I start ranting about how my brother had the gall to show up to court looking thoroughly shagged! Good day to you!" And with taking more than the recommended amount of Floo Powder, the man whisked away into the fireplace and out of sight.

Dumbledore, who had sat silently letting the man rant, stroked his beard as he looked down at the empty teacup. "A bit too much potion, I think."

* * *

Harry heaved out a heavy sigh, his head thumping back against the headboard of his bed. He could hear the snoring of his dorm mates from outside his curtains, but he wasn't awake because of the noise. No, it was the slightly crumpled letter in his hand that kept him awake. Amelia had been sending him news on the progress of his Vaults. Turned out, they were quite a mess. So messy that the manager of the Vaults had been beheaded by the other goblins and were now going through misplaced and unsorted paperwork while trying to figure out where the hell everything went. Harry had been surprised he had more than one Vault, let alone several properties, a good dozen or so seats in the Wizengamot when he reached of age to get his Lordship, and that he was most likely the richest person in Britain. Yet all of that wasn't what got Harry restless.

The boy traced his fingers over Amelia's neat calligraphy, rereading the list that was written on the parchment. His temporary guardian, with aid of the goblins, had found the Potters' Will, sealed by magic. Unsealed and read, it turned out that there was an entire list of guardians Harry could have gone to- should have gone to, but never did. The Will had been sealed mere hours after the demise of his parents, but yet he had been forced to live with the Dursleys.

The Dursleys hadn't even been on the list. No, it had been explicitly written that under no circumstances Harry was to be placed with his Muggle relatives.

And the person who had sealed the Will had been the same person to leave him at his oh-so-loving relatives' doorstep, in November no less. Oh, McGonagall had been more than happy to share that memory with Amelia for evidence. Now Harry knew who had actually suggested to send Ms. Figg to watch him. At least someone was thinking on his well being- Ms. Figg had been the nicest person to him in the Muggle world, while the stray cats, dogs, and other animals had been Harry's favorite.

His fingers curled slightly, crinkling the parchment some more. He had supposed to have gone to Sirius first and foremost, then Alice and Frank Longbottom, Neville's parents, then a distant cousin named Adromeda Tonks, followed by McGonagall herself (she had been shocked that she had been suggested as a guardian to Harry). A Remus Lupin had been mentioned as well, of which Amelia quoted that he was "allowed to kidnap Harry and take him to _that place_ if necessary, in order to escape from the stupid regulations". Amelia had explained that Remus had been a close friend to his father and Sirius who was a werewolf, and under Ministry Law werewolves weren't allowed to adopt or be guardians to any Wizarding human child. Even Snape had been on the list- dead last, as in "if everyone else is dead". His mother had been very close friends with him, apparently. No where on the list said "the Muggles can have him".

Oh, and it turned out, Harry wasn't even his real name- or rather, his legal name. His full name was Hadrian Ophiuchus James Potter-Black. Hadrian had been his grandfather's middle name, while in tradition of the Blacks he was named after something in Astronomy. His father's full name had been James Leo Charlus Potter because his mother, Harry's grandmother, had been a Black, but Lily had named him after the Serpent-Bearer because James already gave him three parts of his name. The title Black came as a surprise to both Amelia and Harry, one that the goblins had to look further into, but they suspected Sirius had done a Blood Adoption as well as naming Harry his Heir since he had no children of his own. And all this time he had been going with boring ol' Harry.

A rustle outside his curtains startled Harry out of his inner angry musings, a pair of sleepy blue eyes peeked at him from a crack in the fabric. Neville didn't say anything, and neither did Harry as he scooted over on the bed, letting the other boy clamber up beside him. Harry handed the letter over to the quieter boy, letting him read the letter as Harry stared up at the scarlet canopy. "We could have been brothers," he whispered, the very thought of being raised by the Longbottoms- if they hadn't been tortured to insanity- left a bitter emptiness in the bottom of his stomach.

Neither boy spoke, preferring to sit in silence, pondering over the could-have-beens as a clock chimed to one in the morning.

* * *

Far in the peninsula of Italy, a young looking man turned away from the rain streaked window and moved towards the entry way, pulling a long coat from the rack near the front door. Tugging the coat on, the man paused to look in the dark kitchen, seeing the familiar shape of his brother in the shadows, slumped over the table, dead asleep. The man moved back, only to pick up a blanket from the living room and draped it over his brother's shoulders. He bent down, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before making his way out the door and into the wet early morning darkness.

* * *

**Notes:**

**Yeah, this chapter's all over the place. I had multiples ideas but had no idea which ones to use, so I ended up using bits of all of them. I don't know how well it turned out...**

**Anyway, Abraxas' messaging Charlie gets Marvolo all jelly. But that argument will have to be saved for another time. **

**I always thought the Blacks should be more close than they were... with all their secrets and dabbling in dark lore they should. So they are, yay! I know James would technically be a cousin to them all, but since he's dead... you know...  
**

**I have no idea what England's doing. Dumbledore wanted information and he got some utterly useless rantings instead. Ha ha. I know, it sucks. Sorry. **

**Harry and Neville would've been the best of bros. **

**And Snape's on the list because Lily wanted him to be. More information on Lily and Snape's relationship will come out in the future, but for now, you get this. And to clear anything up, no, they didn't have a 'thing'.**

**And please tell me what you think of Harry's full name. Hadrian was always my favorite fan-made full name for Harry. Ophiuchus because of irony, duh. Plus it's cool. And James name's Leo, also because of irony. **

**Actually, this chapter title's also quite ironic. Whispering indeed, more like people not knowing when to shut up and go to bed like proper human beings. **

**In other news, I has many stalkers. Like, 36 stalkers worth. And 21 favorites. Have I told you guys that I love you? Also, have I mentioned I love the Visitor Breakdown I get for my story? I mean, I have like a bazillion visitors from all over the place. I got people from Turkey and New Zealand and Germany and England and Canada and Finland and France and Malaysia and Philippines and Peru and Barbados and some place called the Czech Revar which I am assuming is in or near Czech but I'm not too sure, and Austria not to be confused with Australia but I got visitors from there too, and Croatia which someone needs to remind me where that is, my geography is a bit rusty, and and and EVERYWHERE. **

**Overall countries: about 42.**

**Holy shit. I had, like, ten at most for my other stories. I know not ALL of you read this story all the way through, but still, it makes me happy on the inside that someone at least likes this story and I'm not doing a complete shittastic job.**

**KEEP STALKING AND FOLLOWING AND READING AND BOTHERING. I LOVE YOU GUYS. **

**Also, I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE BETTER WRITTEN. I have an idea of what to write, so it'll be easier.  
**

**(This chapter was posted on May 21. 2014)**

**Next Chapter: To Be Whole Again**


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